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I see vou are wearing my pledge and it pleases me 





BY THE KING’S 
COMMAND 


BY 

REGINALD DREW 



NEW YORK 

BROADWAY PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1903 


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Copyright 1903 
by 

Reginald Drew. 


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PREFACE. 


The life and character of Anne Boleyn, the second wife 
of King Henry VIII., of England, has met with harsh 
treatment at the hands of contemporary writers, and writ- 
ers in general. 

The Protestant Reformation in England, being in its 
initial period, during her short life, and she inclining 
towards a Reformation of existing abuses that in her ris- 
ing exalted position, she saw around her, brought upon 
her hatred from the strong prelatic party in power. 

The Reforming element of the English protesters be- 
ing weak, Anne had but feeble backing; and her fate is 
one which would have been better had she not shown any 
Reforming tendencies. 

There is a strange and wonderful romance attaching 
to her brief reign, as queen of England. Seven years of 
pursuit and courtship filled with romantic incidents that 
ended with her marriage. 

Seven years, keeping a monarch, as bluff, and hale, 
and wilful, as King Henry VIII. away from her. These 
seven years cover the period of this volume. 

The foundation of all the historic incidents related, 
are true, and the writer has tried to make alive, the pe- 
riod of her courtship, to her marriage. If this volume 
is. enjoyed by the reading public, and lovers of true 
historic romance, another work may follow, that will 
bring the ill-fated queen to the block ; and on which 
volume the writer, is now working. May this afford you 
the same pleasure in reading, as it has me in writing it. 

Very truly yours, R. D. 

Ponca, Nebraska. 


CONTENTS, 


CHAPTER I. page 

The Diana Fountain and Lake 1 

CHAPTER II. 

The Cardinal at Home 8 

CHAPTER III. 

Hampton Court Palace.. 15 

CHAPTER IV. 

Love and Love’s Inclinings 23 

CHAPTER V. 

The Troth-Plight 30 

CHAPTER VI. 

King Henry VIII. and Queen Katherine 37 

CHAPTER VII. 

The Hawking Party 43 

CHAPTER VIII. 

Mystifications 51 

CHAPTER IX. 

The Tournament 58 

CHAPTER X. 

The Tournament — Continued 08 

CHAPTER XI. 

A Game of Bowls 76 

CHAPTER XII. 

[The Grand Masque upon the Lake 85 


vi Contents. 

CHAPTER XIII. page 

The Grand Banquet, and Cardinal Wolsey’s Gift to the 

King 97 

CHAPTER XIV. 

A Heresy Trial and Its Punishment 107 

CHAPTER XV. 

His Majesty’s Bold Declaration 115 

CHAPTER XVI. 

La Homme Propose, le Dieu Dispose 125 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Hever Castle and Farewells 183 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Home Again in Merrie England 142 

CHAPTER XIX. 

The King’s Passionate Love 151 

CHAPTER XX. 

Tortuous Paths 160 

CHAPTER XXI. 

Sudor Anglicus 170 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Sudor Anglicus — Continued 178 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

Master Norris’s Infatuation 186 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Their Majesties’ Divorce Trial 195 

CHAPTER XXV. 

By the King’s Command 204 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

The Fall of the Great Cardinal 212 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

“Cawood Castle” 219 


Contents. vii 

CHAPTER XXVIII. PAGE 

Marchioness of Pembroke 227 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

A Royal Hunt in the Great Forest 235 

CHAPTER XXX. 

The Cardinal’s Arrest for Treason 243 

CHAPTER XXXI. 

“Deus in Adjutorium Meum Intende” 251 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

The Prophetess’ Warning 260 

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The Meeting of the Two Kings 272 

CHAPTER XXXIY. 

The Marriage of King Henry VIII. of England and Queen 

Anne Boleyn 283 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

Queen Katherine’s Divorce and Public Opinion Thereon.... 292 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 

On the Eve of Attainment 300 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Queen Anne’s Royal Progress 312 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

How the Bells Rang Out Queen Anne’s Coronation 321 



BY THE KING’S COMMAND 


CHAPTER I. 

THE DIANA FOUNTAIN AND LAKE. 

It is one of June’s most glorious mornings, in the year 
of our Lord 1526, as I, Master Thomas Wyatt, a gentleman 
of his Majesty’s privy chamber, comes riding along my 
Lord Cardinal Wolsey’s avenue at Hampton Court Palace, 
to meet my good friend Lord Henry Percy, heir to the 
Earl of Northumberland, and the favorite young gentle- 
man attendant of his Eminence, the great Cardinal Lord 
High Chancellor of England. 

As I turn into the rose garden that leads directly to the 
palace, I see Percy coming to meet me, for he has been 
looking out for me. Leaping from my horse I leave it to 
my servant’s care, and catch my friend’s outstretched hands 
that clasp mine with a fervor that I like, as he is my 
warm hearted friend and brother of my soul, and the man 
I most regard and love in all the wide world. 

“I am glad to see you! Welcome to Hampton Court, 
Thomas.” 

“It is good to be with you, Percy! His Majesty hath 
dismissed me from attendance until his arrival, so I am 
fortunate at having a few days’ grace from handling 
clothes and dancing attendance on his Highness. But 
who have arrived ? And where am I to lodge ? And shall 
we have much time together, think you, to unlock each 
other’s hearts?” 


2 


By the King’s Command. 

“Not so fast, or I cannot remember to answer yon. 
As the palace will be crowded, what say yon to lodging with 
me ?” 

“That snits me well,” I exclaim heartily. 

“Many hath arrived, and among them, Mistress Anne 
Boleyn, who hath lately returned from France.” 

“Why, that is my dainty and wilful little playfellow of 
long ago, who used to order me around at Norwich Castle, 
when we were children together. I have not seen her for 
a number of years.” 

“You will be surprised and pleased when you see her, 
for she is a dainty maiden to look upon, and hath a most 
queenly manner.” 

“She always had, Percy. But ” 

“Oh, yes ! I was going to say that his Eminence is not 
here, so I have a little liberty, and if you wish, let us to 
the quadrangle, where the young damsels and gallants are, 
for we are going to see the Diana fountain.” 

Passing through one of the great archways of the palace, 
we come out into a large quadrangle, where a number of 
young damsels and gallants are seen in animated convert 
sation. 

“You were a long time gone, my lord, but I see you 
have brought with you a lover of the Muses, which is ap- 
propriate, as this is a veritable poet’s paradise,” Mistress 
Anne Saville says, smiling at me. And here I suppose I 
should admit that I believe Mistress Saville favors me 
somewhat, but I do not like it very well. I think the 
young gallants should make the advances in courting, 
and not the young damsels, as sweets are best when difficult 
to attain. But Mistress Saville is a comely maiden, and 
I would challenge the man who would dare say other- 
wise. 

“An abodte for goddesses,” I say, doffing my bonnet, and 
bowing low to them all, but particularly to one that I see 
is my playmate of long ago. But so altered ! So charm- 
ing! I really can scarcely believe my eyes, that before 
me stands my wilful, yet dear childhood friend, Anne 
Boleyn. 

She has developed to nearly medium height, and is ex- 
quisitely formed. Her hair is a dark golden brown, that 


The Diana Fountain and Lake. 


3 


in the sunlight looks like shimmering gold. A slender 
neck supports her beautiful head. She has lustrous black 
eyes, cherry lips, skin of alabaster whiteness; with the 
pink of glory blushing through her cheeks, that sets the 
gallants* hearts to beating, and particularly mine, as I 
feel the boyish love of long ago leaping and throbbing in 
my heart, at so beautiful a being that stands before me. 

“Good morning, Master Wyatt. I am glad to see you 
again/* she says in a dainty way. “You are changed since 
I saw you last, and grown — into — a — Poet?** she says 
naively, and with an enquiring expression on her face. 

“With the same admiration for my childhood friend, 
who was ever a subject for the Muses,** I answer out of the 
fulness of my heart. 

“Gallantry hath not lost its devotees while Master Wyatt 
lives. Let us to the fountain, and see a sample of our- 
selves, for Lord Percy hath promised to shew us the Car- 
dinal*s goddess! Fie! The idea of a Cardinal with a 
goddess !** she says gaily. 

Percy passes quickly between the Lady Mary Talbot and 
Mistress Boleyn and leads out with them to the fountain, — 
leaving us to follow, and there is something like jealousy 
creeps into my heart at seeing him monopolize Mistress 
Boleyn this way. 

Nature is prolific here. The trees have donned their 
bridal clothes of virgin green, and are at their best. The 
many haw trees are bursting into bloom with pink and 
white “May.** The ground on which we are walking is 
carpeted with velvety moss that gives a spring to the foot 
in the dense shade of the horse chestnut trees and elms, 
and the very air seems pregnant with the elixir of buoy- 
ant life. 

The fountain is a tower shaped column of pure white 
marble, surmounted with the goddess Diana in golden 
bronze. At its four corners are water nymphs, all pouring 
out libations that sparkle and ripple in the sunlight, 
making an effect of diamonds sprayed over gold and white 
of an exceeding splendor and beauty. It stands in the 
centre of a lake, on the bosom of which snowy swans lazily 
swim in the security of undisturbed repose. Pretty 
barges with awnings, upholstered in red, with oarsmen 


4 


By the King’s Command. 

in the livery of my lord Cardinal, await our pleasure, 
while on the farther lake side a lordly stag leads some 
gentle does and more timid fawn down to the water’s 
edge, to sip in dainty style, like lordlings as they are. 

“How like you this ?” Percy asks with pleasure. 

“A charming spot. One that my Lord Surrey and you, 
Master Wyatt, would choose for dreamy flights. The god- 
dess is charming, and his Eminence must love maidenly 
beauty, for all that wet hear of his austerity,” Mistress 
Boleym says admiringly. 

“I feel repaid at bringing you. I thought you would 
admire his Eminence’s choice, and I assure you he loves 
beauty,” Percy says. 

“May we dare row on the beautiful lake? The pond 
lilies look in keeping with the goddess’ beauty, and I vow I 
should like some,” she says enquiringly. 

Stepping down into a barge, Percy puts out both his 
hands to jump her in, but she will not have it so ; for there 
is something telltale in his glance as he looks at her, that 
makes her change her thought. 

She gives me her hand as she says, “I would approach 
the vicinity of the goddess under the protection of a devotee 
of the Muses,” and Percy drops his hands regretfully. 

How proud I am as I hold her hand and take her to her 
seat. Percy says laughingly, though disappointed I am 
sure, “Thomas, the touch of a live divinity should awake 
the skill of your poetic pen ! Ah, me ! I am not a poet !” 

“I feel thrills within me now. I am forsworn if I 
meet not your expectations,” I reply gaily. 

Anne affects to take no notice of Percy’s flattery, but 
there is a humorous twinkle in her eyes that lets him know 
that she has marked what has been said. 

Leisurely round the lake we go, and I have eyes only for 
her, as she hangs her hand in the water and lets the ripples 
play with a golden ring upon her finger, that looks like 
a captive sunbeam that she is trailing along. 

I cannot help but think of our childish days, when we 
went hand in hand, and I wish they were here again ; and 
as T offer her some fragrant pond lilies, I vow life seems 
charming this way, until T catch the eye of Mistress Sa- 
ville, that hath a disappointed look. Lady Mary Talbot 


The Diana Fountain and Lake. 5 

seems unusually quiet, and not so bright as her wont, and 
1 am puzzled. 

“What a charming view it is from here,” Lady Mary says 
to Percy. “We heard of the fame of his Eminence’s pal- 
ace, but it passes our expectations.” 

“His Eminence hath chosen a Christian design, in keep- 
ing with his holy office as a prince of the church, for, mark 
you, it is in the form of a cross,” Mistress Mary Carey, 
Anne Boleyru’s sister, says. 

“It is true, and the lake is the centre. But I question 
his Grace’s chivalry in sacrificing a goddess upon it,” 
Anne Saville says. 

“Is that how you interpret his Grace’s design? Me- 
thinks his Eminence hath chosen her for all that is lovely 
in woman. Look at the love glistening in her eyes. See 
how she contributes to the thirsty from her fountains of 
love, enough to satisfy all comers. For sympathy and 
love give me the Virgin. I am grateful at his Grace’s sug- 
gestion, for virgins were made to love,” and Percy looks at 
Mistress Boleyn, who says : 

“How very poetic ! We had better move from the 
goddess’ vicinity or Master Wyatt’s mantle will fall upon 
us all.” 

Landing, we pass to the shade of the trees of the great 
avenue, and before we go further we will take a good look 
at it. 

His Eminence has reclaimed it from the great forest 
surrounding it. Its gate of entrance is of massive grilled 
iron-work, set in solid masonry that rises like flanking tow- 
ers on each side, and are surmounted with couchant lions. 
It sweeps away for more than a mile in length, one great 
dense mass of exquisite shade, that in the springtime is un- 
rivalled in the world. The lake lies one-third of its dis- 
tance, and has branching short avenues to right and left 
that complete the design. 

The horse chestnut trees are laden now with their wealth 
of bloom, and we pluck them and pelt each other, and the 
maidens weave chains and take us captive, and we are 
having a glorious frolic, when a bugle note is heard in the 
distance, when Percy says, “That is his Grace’s signal. 


6 By the King’s Command. 

We must hurry to the palace, for he always likes to be met 
in the entry .” 

Hurrying to the grand entrance, we are joined by the 
venerable Comptroller of his Grace’s household, Sir Reg- 
inald Bray, the Cardinal’s lifelong friend; and soon a 
stately cavalcade of prelates, nobles, squires and retainers 
sweep into the broad rideway, and come on to the palace; 
and at its head is the great Cardinal Wolsey, the most 
influential man in the realm of his Majesty, King Henry 

VIII. 

Thomas Wolsejq Bishop of Winchester, Abbot of St. 
Alban’s, Cardinal “Legatus-de-latere” of England, and 
Lord High Chancellor, at fifty-five years of age, is still a 
handsome man. He is tall and vigorous looking, though 
showing signs of age; the effect of the prodigious amount 
of work he undertakes and crowds upon himself, and that 
is crowded on him. 

He was born at Ipswich in Suffolk in the year 1471. 
His parents were humble though respectable people, his 
father not being a butcher, as slanderous people will say, 
but a wool grower and merchant, with connections very 
well to do. 

Thomas, being the oldest son, ambitious views were en- 
tertained for him, and he was sent to school with the priest- 
hood in view. 

He was admitted to Oxford at eleven, gained his B. A. 
degree at fifteen, afterwards becoming a fellow of Mag- 
dalen College and Master of its Grammar School. 

At twenty-nine, through the influence of my Lord of 
Dorset, he was appointed to the living of Lymington in 
Somersetshire. Later on he was made Chaplain to the 
Archbishop of Canterbury. Archbishop Dean dying 
shortly afterwards, old Sir Reginald Bray, who was then 
the favored servant of King Henry VIII., obtained for 
him a Chaplaincy under Sir Richard Nanfan, who was 
then Deputy Lieutenant of Calais. 

The age of Sir Richard caused him to use Wolsey’s 
services to the extent, that his ability was so marked that he 
practically had all the work of the deputyship to do. 
Sir Richard retired later, and good old Sir Reginald again 


The Diana Fountain and Lake. 7 

befriended him, and he became one of the King’s Chap- 
lains, 

Success followed him in a commission to the Emperor 
Maximilian. Then other commissions followed, and he 
rose to be Bishop' of Lincoln in 1514. The same year he 
became Archbishop of York. The next year he was made 
Lord Chancellor, then Cardinal “Legatus-de-latere” in 
England. 

As he comes riding along one can see a slight stooping in 
his shoulders, and a little grey showing in his once jet 
black hair. But there is a majesty in his person and a 
command in his eyes that marks him, next to the King, 
and only next to the King, the arbiter of England. Yes, 
and even beyond, for the Emperor Charles and King 
Francis send him annually large pensions, beside many 
costly and rare presents, that they may court his favor, 
and through him that of his master. 


8 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER II. 

THE CARDINAL AT HOME. 

The white haired Sir Reginald Bray' is joined at the 
entrance by a numerous company of nobles and prelates, 
part of the four or five hundred the Cardinal keeps about 
him, for his Grace affects the state of a king, much to the 
jealousy of the great nobles, and they say King Henry is 
noticing it too. 

We join the crowd in the entry and await his Grace. 
Presently we see the cavalcade come sweeping through 
“the wilderness” (a part of the unreclaimed forest the 
Cardinal’s fancy has had left) into the rose garden, which 
is such a contrast with its exquisite floral loveliness. 

His Grace looks with critical eyes at everything as he 
comes along, and very little escapes him. 

On reaching the palace entrance Percy assists him from 
his horse, and he looks around as one glad to escape state 
affairs, to enjoy rest in his sylvan home. 

“Your arm, Percy,” he says to his favorite, and, “Come, 
Sir Reginald. Are we ready to entertain their Majesties?” 

“Yes, your Grace. I think when their Highnesses arrive 
they will be pleased at your welcome.” 

Coming to where we stand together, he casts his eyes 
over the group (being familiar with us all, for there are 
very few that the Cardinal doesn’t know), nodding and 
speaking to one and another of us, he sees Mistress Anne 
Boleyn, when he stops and says, “Who is this. Sir Reg- 
inald?” 

“Sir Thomas Boleyn’s daughter Anne, but just arrived 
from Queen Claude’s court. But Percy, I think, can tell 
you more, for I notice the young people affect each other’s 


The Cardinal at Home. 9 

company, and rightly, too, I judge, for she is a dainty 
maid.” 

The Cardinal glances quickly at Percy, who reddens un- 
der his sharp scrutiny, while Mistress Anne’s cheeks flame 
red as old Sir Reginald couples their names together; and 
personally I don’t like it a bit, but then Sir Reginald is 
an old dotard anyway. 

“And so this is Mistress Boleyn whom I have seen in 
France. I thought I knew the pretty face. Queen 
Claude hath taken good care of you, for you are promising 
rich beauty. I am glad to welcome you,” he says, taking 
her hand, while Mistress Anne makes him a low sweeping 
curtsey to hide her blushes. 

Nodding to me, he says : “Thomas Wyatt, Percy is always 
happy with you, so you had better come with us.” 

I am very pleased to go, and as we pass along the Car- 
dinal asks: “Is Sir Thomas Boleyn here with his daugh- 
ter?” 

“No, your Grace. The Duchess of Norfolk has com- 
manded the presence of Mistress Anne Boleyn, to become 
one of Queen Katherine’s maids,” Percy says. 

“Her Majesty will have a very beautiful flower added to 
her choice collection. And so the pretty face of Mis- 
tress Boleyn hath made the face of the Lady Mary Talbot 
to dim in thy regard ?” he says to Percy. 

“No, your Grace. You are like my father, who will as- 
sociate the Lady Mary with me, and while I esteem her 
highly as a friend, I assure you I am yet heart free but for 
some love I bear your Grace.” 

“’Tis well, Percy,” and a pleased smile lights up the 
face of his Eminence at the admission. “But are you not 
betrothed to the Lady Mary?” 

“Yes, your Grace, but on my part I cannot think it 
binding; and since I am with you, I believe that is an old 
matter of my father’s, which he has forgotten.” 

“Perhaps he has, but I have seen such matters bring in- 
finite trouble to headstrong youngsters. But that is of 
no import, though I think the Lady Mary would not say 
as much, Percy?” 

“But, Sir Reginald, what about joust and tournament?” 
the Cardinal says, running on without waiting for a reply. 


10 


By the King’s Command. 

“His Majesty must be entertained! Yesterday he was 
angry because Master Tyndale hath managed to smuggle in 
several hundred testaments from abroad, and Master 
Packington of Cheapside hath been distributing them. 
But my men are tracing the matter out, and I shall crush 
it. It menaces what I am doing at Oxford in advancing 
the Hew learning, for when I am dead and gone they may 
forget me, but scholarship will be enduring, and the schools 
I am founding, if Holy Mother Church fosters them, will 
be an enduring monument to my name. And I cannot 
have them tainted with heresy through such worthless 
monks as Tyndale.” 

“Is he not associated with that pestilent monk, Martin 
Luther, whom the Elector of Saxony shields?” says Sir 
Reginald. 

“Yes. And I wish I had them both in England. I 
would put them where I would know they were secure ; but 
I can punish the dolts that follow their lead and they had 
better look out. But what about our preparations for 
Henry ?” 

“I have followed your directions, your Grace, and wish 
you would inspect the same.” 

“We will do so to-morrow, eh, Percy? and then I can 
get better acquainted with your young friend Anne 
Boleyn. Call Stephen Gardiner to my secretaries’ room, 
for I have work to do that will keep me till midnight.” 
Then he says, soliloquizing, “In two days their Majesties 
will be here, and I must please the King if it costs me this 
palace. My enemies hate me, and are stirring up his 
Highness, and he is irritable. Oh, if he were only as amen- 
able as Katherine, I should be ruling myself. But, Master 
Wyatt, use thy discretion at what thou hearest ; and Percy, 
you may join your young friends an you wish.” 

With a low obeisance, Sir Reginald, Percy and I depart, 
and the Cardinal busies himself with his secretaries. 

“His Grace hath an anxious look. There are deeper 
matters in his heart than we know of, when he talks of 
such important affairs,” Sir Reginald says. 

“I do not like to see him so worried,” Percy replies con- 
siderately. 

“His old habit is reserve. Twenty-five years ago I sent 


The Cardinal at Home. 


11 


him to Sir Richard Hanfan at Calais, but what a man he 
has become since then ! From a nobleman’s Chaplain he 
has forged his way to become what many call him, ‘the 
English Pope.’ They say his Holiness locks his secrets 
in the cabinet of his breast and never lets them out ; and I 
am sure our good master usually does, and he must be 
mightily moved to tell us what he has.” 

We take our way to the rose garden, for from the win- 
dows we have seen a bevy of young people there. 

“Guess what I have brought from the Cardinal?” Percy 
says. 

“What ? what ?” cry many in chorus. 

“It must be an invitation, for, see, he has nothing in his 
hands,” says Anne Saville. 

“It is an invitation, but guess what it is!” 

“A barge race on the river ?” 

“A run in the deer forest?” 

“Heroning with our falcons?” 

“To see his Grace’s bears perform?” say many all in a 
breath. 

“Ho ! Ho ! Ho ! You have not guessed it.” 

“Then tell us quickly, or we shall have to resort to some 
means to get it from you, we are so inquisitive, and you 
are cruel to keep us in such a suspense,” says Mistress 
Carey. 

“I am sure under such, a threat I will tell you. To-mor- 
row his Grace invites you all to inspect the preparations 
that are making for their Majesties’ entertainment, and we 
are to accompany him. One hundred skilled workmen are 
to be here this evening, with many new and divers costly 
things, the like of which has never been seen before in 
England.” 

“Good! I shall then see the tilt-yard,” says George 
Boleyn. 

“Always desirous of seeing the place of vanquishment,” 
says Anne Saville. 

“Yes, vanquishment for the fainthearted, but cheers for 
the victor.” 

“Hark! That is the call to supper. We must in, 
ladies, and after supper let us meet in the antechamber and 
play cards,” says Lady Mary. 


12 


By the King’s Command. 

“And perhaps Mistress Boleyn will shew ns the new 
French steps,” Percy says. 

“How know yon I am acquainted with them ?” 

“I hope yon are, and will tench me,” he says earnestly ; 
too earnestly for my liking. 

“Very well, and so it is understood,” says George Boleyn. 
“Here, Wyatt, sing something and don’t look so earnest.” 

Catching hold of my arm, the other gentlemen link arms 
with ns, and I troll out as we rollick along, all joining in 
the chorus : 


Life is a game of May, 

When so it is understood ; 

Fragrant, happy and gay , 

When so it is understood. 

We borrow not care and sorrow. 

We have no trouble to follow. 

But love to-day and to-morrow. 

And so it is understood. 

And so it is understood. 

And so it is understood. 

We'll die for love of maidens. 

And so it is understood. 

Throwing our hearts into the chorus, we make the 
grounds ring with our mirth, until the strains die away 
in the arches and courts of the palace, and I wonder what 
the Cardinal must think of such a merry crowd. 

In the evening we meet again, and I am not so slow as 
not to secure Mistress Boleyn as my partner at the card 
table ; and I surely forestall Percy, as he asked her directly 
after me, and looked disappointed when she told him that 
she had promised me. 

Anne Saville falls to Percy, and they both play badly; 
for Mistress Saville plays crossly, perhaps because I did 
not ask her; and Percy plays as one in a dream, so that 
they manage to lose every game. 

“You are not playing at all at your best, and it is provok- 
ing when Mistress Boleyn and Master Wyatt carry off all 
the honors,” says Anne Saville. 


The Cardinal at Home. 


13 


“I do not understand it, but Mistress Boleyn must be 
destined for a queen, for look you, kings just naturally fall 
into her hand, and with their aid she manages to conquer,” 
says Percy almost prophetically. 

“King or queen, I care not to play more, so let us dance,” 
says Anne Saville. 

“Show us some of the French dances and let me dance 
with you,” I say quickly. 

Consenting, how proudly I lead her out, as she gives 
her hand to me; and as I have my arms about her, I re- 
member the strength of my boyish love for her in the long 
ago ; and it seems as if I hold all that is valuable to me in 
the whole wide world, for my boyish love has increased ten 
thousand-fold, and I am lost to all but her. 

“You dance well, Master Wyatt.” 

“How can I do otherwise under such guidance ?” 

“You used to flatter me in our baby days, and have not 
gotten over them.” 

“I never shall get over them,” I say most earnestly. 
But Percy interrupts for her hand to dance with him, when 
George Boleyn says, “Show us some of the French dances, 
Anne,” and I am glad, for I do not want Percy to dance 
with her. 

Percy leads her to the centre of the room, Mark Smea- 
ton strikes up a lively tune, and then she surprises us all. 
Her feet scarcely touch the floor; she seems to float bird- 
like in the intricacies of the dance, and as she finishes we 
applaud loudly. 

“In faith, Anne, that was divine,” George says. 

“There is no hope for any of us, for Mistress Boleyn 
hath captured the dancing fay,” I say. 

“I shall only accept such praise on condition that you 
give me a song in return presently.” 

“May I be as inspired with the goddess of song, as thou 
art with the spirit of the dance,” I reply. 

Percy comes to her and says, “Will you not give me one 
dance with you?” 

He says it withal so earnestly that she looks at him in 
replying, then bows as she responds with “Yes, Lord 
Percy!” emphasizing the word lord as if he may not be 
persistent with her, and I am glad. 


14 


By the King’s Command. 

I watch and see him lean over her, and it makes my 
heart ache; for I am sure his earnest manner is leading 
him where I do not want him to go, for I cannot think 
of him as a rival to me, and God only knows what would 
happen should it prove so. 

From her corsage a June rose is escaping to the floor, 
which I see he dexterously recovers, and instead of giving it 
to her he slips it into his doublet, and she hinders him not. 

Did she give him permission to keep it? The thought 
of it stirs me mightily. 

“I would claim my promise, Master Wyatt, ” she says, 
coming to me, and I forget everything as I try to please 
her, as I sing. 

I search for a soul to be mine , 

A sweet spirit , loving and hind. 

To be my ideal, for woe and for weal, 

1 crave such a soul to be mine . 

Ym armed to the full cap-a-pie, 

Lance strong, heart strong as can be, 

Yll fight till I die, my courage is high, 

For that soul I so hunger to see . 

Tell me where such a soul can be found. 

In castle or bower around ? 

Ym a Tcnight of desire, my heart is on fire, 

Ym equipped for LOVE'S battle ground. 

“I will tell thee ," a maiden replies, 

(c Thus equipped for such war is unwise ; 

In thy search for a soul, thine ideal to behold, 

A maid's soul thou may' st see IN HER EYES 

“That is a very pretty song, Wyatt, and we shall know 
where to look ; the ladies must not think us over bold if we 
put this in practice, and I am pleased at the maid’s sug- 
gestion,” George Boleyn says, laughing. 

As we retire later, I see Percy* carefully place Anne’s 
rose in his cedar chest, but he says nothing to me, and what 
can I say? I cannot trust myself to talk about her, but 
I w r ould give anything to know if she gave it to him. 


Hampton Court Palace. 


15 


CHAPTER III. 

HAMPTON COURT PALACE. 

Thirteen miles from the Cardinal’s palace of York 
Place, and four miles from his Majesty’s palace at Sheen, 
beside the river Thames, is Hampton Court Palace. 

His Eminence, eleven years ago, purchased an old manor 
house and converted it into a palace. Many magnificent 
rooms he built around triangular courts, making it a 
pile, with corridors, cloisters, many stairways and intri- 
cacies, that one can easily lose himself. 

A magnificent chapel he has added, that accommodates 
his household, which is in keeping with his sacred office as 
prince of the church, and where his chaplains can urge 
souls to their duty. Underneath the chapel, and indeed 
beneath the major part of the buildings, are immense vaults 
and cellars for the storing of wine that he receives as a 
kind of lordly tribute from abroad from those who wish 
to gain his favor. There are dungeons, too, but seldom 
used, as his Eminence makes this palace a place of abso- 
lute enjoyment and quiet rest. 

The main court is one hundred and sixty-seven feet 
square, and is entered by a finely groined archway with a 
massive oriel window above it; two lesser courts, quad- 
rangular shaped, are separated from each other by a gate- 
way and clock tower that contains a curious astronomical 
clock. The towers are battlemented. On the turrets are 
superb terra cotta busts of the Roman Emperors, sent by 
our Holy Father Leo X., of blessed memory. 

On the towers and archways which stand between the 
various courts are medallions of the Emperors of Rome, 
from the hand of the celebrated sculptor, Joannes Maiano, 


16 


By the King’s Command. 

and the motto of his Eminence, “DOMHSTUS MIHI-AD- 
JUTOR,” is seen, coupled with his armorial bearings, on 
the great towers. 

The Cardinal, with a noble train, moves towards the great 
banqueting hall of Gothic architecture, one hundred and 
six feet long, forty feet wide and sixty feet high, hung with 
costly tapestries from the hand of lovely dames, even 
queens contributing to the gorgeous hangings of this lordly 
palace, with some specimens of beautiful work ; while 
antlered heads of deer, and flags from the battlefields of 
York and Lancaster adorn the walls, high up towards the 
ceiling. 

A celebrated picture of the Cardinal, life size, by Master 
Hans Holbein, his Majesty’s court painter, looks down at 
one imperiously from the large open fireplace. Paintings 
of their Majesties, with those of Popes and royalties, stand 
out conspicuously on panelled walls, making it a place 
worthy of his Eminence. 

Workmen are busy finishing a raised dais, with cano- 
pied thrones for their Majesties, and already the purple 
hangings of velvet embroidered with the royal arms and 
monograms, are being draped about them. 

From off this stately hall there is a withdrawing room, 
sixty feet long and twenty-nine feet wide. 

Wonderful carvings, gilded and illuminated panels, 
matchless velvets, tapestries, and pictures, are seen in pro- 
fusion; bronze sconces for lights, rare pottery, jewelled 
vases in rare gold work, give that richness and quality that 
becomes this prince of the church. 

The Cardinal measures it all with a critical eye as he 
moves along, on down the grand stairway out into the clock 
court, where grooms hold their horses. He wonders within 
himself whether these things will move the King’s cupidity, 
or his admiration. 

Through the rose garden, past the magnificent fountains, 
through the “wilderness” and the lion gate, into the avenue, 
the Cardinal rides with Sir Reginald and Percy on either 
side of him. 

Percy edges away from his Eminence, stopping a mo- 
ment to adjust a buckle of his saddle, allowing us to come 
up to him, where Anne Boleyn is riding between Master 


17 


Hampton Court Palace. 

Henry Norris, one of his Majesty’s gentlemen, and myself. 
The Cardinal looks back as he does so, and I have no doubt 
draws his conclusions, for he can read men like books ; and 
I see old Sir Reginald laugh at something he says about 
them, I am sure. 

As we ride up to the lake, Percy says to Anne : “This is 
for the grand masque,” seeking to join in conversation with 
her ; but as he is riding with Mistress Carey and Mary Tal- 
bot, it stings the latter to be ignored for this new arrival, 
for anyone can see that Lady Mary idolizes Percy in secret. 
And so she replies : 

“That is old news, my lord.” 

“Who told you ?” 

“Now, that is the question. At least it was a gentle- 
man.” 

“Sir Reginald?” 

“No.” 

“His Eminence?” 

“I shall not admit who, but you see we had to know, as we 
take part in the grand masque.” 

“Whom do you represent?” 

“I think we shall have to keep you in suspense, for your 
tardiness in telling us.” 

“That will be a punishment indeed, as my curiosity is 
already aroused.” 

“Perhaps Mistress Boleyn will tell you, for we maidens 
have been planning together.” 

This little shaft at her rival does not disconcert Percy 
in the least, for, I am sorry to say for my happiness in this 
case, Percy is of that nature that is intensely sincere and 
true, and where he likes, he likes with all his soul; and I 
am afraid he is beginning to like Mistress Boleyn, and I can 
see she is attracted somewhat by my handsome, whole souled 
friend. 

Hearing her name mentioned, x\nne places her horse 
beside that of Percy, who now rides between Mary Talbot 
and Anne, while I ride at Anne’s side. 

Along the cross avenue we go, out into the deer park, 
through ferns that reach to our knees, past haw trees laden 
with bloom, the scent of sweet “May” and lime blossoms 
filling the air, Bees and birds dart hither and thither, 


18 


By the King’s Command. 

pheasants and rabbits dive deeper into the gorse and 
bracken, and deer scurry out of the way. Oh, it is a happy 
morning for a ride, and the luxury and exhilaration of it all 
is enhanced when one finds himself beside the sweetest 
being in the world; it makes the pulse quicken, and one 
feels like thanking the holy Jesu he is alive. 

Anne could not look more beautiful. Mounted on a chest- 
nut horse, dressed in a dark green velvet riding habit with 
deep collar of lace, plumes waving in her velvet bonnet, 
hair coifed, eyes dancing, cheeks with the blush of dawn 
peeping through, she sits her animal a very goddess. 

There is a seductive charm in her every move, such mag- 
netism in her presence, that she unconsciously takes all our 
hearts by storm. Brereton, Norris, Smeaton, and all of 
us, we cannot help it, and all hover about her like bees 
around flowers. And so we come to the tournament 
grounds. 

An immense place has been cleared, enclosed and sur- 
rounded with a seating capacity to accommodate five thou- 
sand spectators, with canopied awnings for their Majesties ; 
for the Cardinal has sent out many invitations to distin- 
guished nobles and knights, who will try their skill in the 
lists. 

His Grace seems satisfied as he inspects it all, and says, 
“Bright eyes and pretty faces are the cause of many a 
downfall/’ as he looks at Anne Boleyn. 

“The King of France used to say that bright eyes were a 
witch’s charm.” 

“Then it was when his Majesty was looking in thine, for I 
vow thine are, for they contain such delightful witchery that 
has lain one that I know under their spell,” and he glances 
quickly at Percy. I wish that his Grace would not be so 
blunt ! 

As we ride towards the deer paddock, where a large herd 
is confined for a deer drive, Mistress Carey calls out: 
“Look ! oh, look ! the cruel bird !” 

A large eagle has arisen from the ferns some distance 
from us, flying low over our heads, bearing in its talons a 
young, fawn, while a doe dashes past us in affright, calling 
plaintive bleatings to its young one. 

“Gentlemen, where are your bows ?” Mary Talbot says. 


Hampton Court Palace. 19 

“Tut, tut! That royal bird is welcome its living. I 
would not have it harmed, for royalty I like about me;' the 
Cardinal replies. 

“With your Grace’s permission, I would show our friends 
the eyrie. Recently, when hunting, I came upon the weird- 
est portion of this domain, methinks, and in its centre the 
eagle’s nesting place high up in a giant oak, blasted with 
the lightning,” Percy says. 

“In two hours by the sun I shall need you in my work 
room,” the Cardinal replies, dismissing him, and I hear 
him say to Sir Reginald, as he rides away, “I believe to-day 
Percy is not ‘heart free,’ or I am no discerner of men.” 

It does look this way, for Percy leads out with Mistress 
Boleyn at a sharp canter, leaving us to follow their lead, 
which I do with rather a bad grace, feeling outmanoeuvred, 
but I suppose all is fair in love and war. I watch them 
jealously, and have no soul for conversation; but Mistress 
Saville takes the place where I would have Anne Boleyn, 
and just persecutes me with her trivialities, when I want 
eyes only to see Percy and Anne galloping before me. 

“You are not very companionable to-day, Master Wyatt, 
at least not with old friends, and we always regarded you 
as not fickle.” 

“Because I am reflective, you call me names ?” 

“Reflective, call you it? Jubilant, lively, animated, 
when a certain one is near you ; glum when that one is ab- 
sent, which seems not courtierly to the rest of us, unless you 
have condemned us to silence.” 

I honestly wish I could just now at least, but life at court 
makes us all so familiar with each other, almost like one im- 
mense family, that T can only force myself to be pleasant, 
when I really feetvexed, and so I answer, “You are mis- 
taken, for nothing delights me more than the conversation 
of lovely maidens, and Mistress Saville is noted for her ob- 
servation and wit.” 

“Is that an accusation, or compliment ?” 

“I meant it for the latter. But do you not think his 
Grace has a beautiful place here? I did not think it 
extended so far, though Percy says he has not explored its 
fullest extent.” 


20 By the King’s Command. 

“Yes, it is grand, and I suppose you will be immortalizing 
it in verse ?” 

“Then you think my verses are worthy that?” 

“If it will please you, yes.” 

It does not please me and I am scarcely conscious of the 
grand scenery we are passing through, as we ride two miles 
or more under massive oaks, then through deep ferns, while 
startled deer spring up out of our path. Presently we come 
upon a clear spot, carpeted with verdant sod, and central in 
the midst, a weird oak, many hundred years old, perfectly 
hollow, and seemingly dead, though showing signs of life 
low down, while stretching high into the air are two massive 
dead branches, like an antlered head of some gigantic deer, 
and in the forked branches, the eagle’s nest. 

At the foot of the tree the doe is circling among bones of 
fawn and hare, calling to its young already dead and partly 
eaten by this time. 

“What a weird place !” 

“How easily one could get lost !” 

“It is a very fairy ring^ and I believe the fairies dance 
here of nights.” 

“I wish I were brave enough to come and see.” 

Thus all speak at once, as the charm of this novel spot 
bursts upon them. 

“Giles, his Grace’s head keeper, declares the place be- 
witched. He says this is the ring and circle of the fairy 
folk, and after night the keepers shun the spot, for uncanny 
lights are seen that they say are elves and fairies,” says 
Percy. 

“Poaching varlets, I should say, stealing his Grace’s 
venison,” George Boleyn says. 

“I think it a very trysting place for lovers. See, here ! 
the fairy folk have made a natural seat against this tree fit 
for a queen. Let us take possession,” I say. 

“I wonder why the tree stands all alone? Ho gorse, no 
ferns near it, only this velvety moss ? Giles must be right, 
and we are in a fairy ring; so let us dismount and place 
ourselves under their protection,” Anne Boleyn saj^s ani- 
matedly. 

Percy is before me in getting to her side. Daintily yield- 
ing her bridle rein to his arm, he lifts her from her saddle 


Hampton Court Palace. 21 

and sets her down from out his hands that would have 
held her longer. 

Running to a hillock, Anne springs upon it and says, 
“Master Wyatt, will the fairy folk be offended, think you, 
if we take possession and choose a queen among us ?” 

“Not if you will be our queen and let us crown you with 
nature’s golden crown,” I say, and my heart is saying, and 
my eyes declaring, “There never was a sweeter uncrowned 
queen in all the world.” 

“Ladies, let us be fair, and have the choice by lot,” she 
replies. 

“Then the blossoms on this gorse-spray shall be our 
counter and the last petal shall be our queen, ” says Percy, 
counting. “And the — last — falls — to — the — queen !” he 
says, giving the last petal to Anne. 

“Ladies, help us make a golden diadem for our queen,” 
Master Brereton says. 

With hearty good will we pluck the golden gorse, the 
ladies weaving it into a crown, and place it upon our 
queen’s head. Then we all frolic and dance around the old 
tree so merrily, that the eagles scream and fly high into the 
air and swoop down with a hissing sound, so close and men- 
acingly as to terrify the ladies and make the horses restive. 

We soon put them to flight, however, and then Anne says : 
“To suitably reward you, my merry subjects, I shall give 
you all a share in our royalty.” 

Dismantling her crown, she gives us each a spray and I 
say, “Let us weave a magic spell into each for good luck.” 

“Yes, let us do so, and you be charm-weaver,” says 
Anne Saville. 

“Very well, then. Surround our queen, each thinking 
what he wishes best, and I will weave a fairy charm.” 

“But our queen has forgotten me,” says Percy, holding 
out his hands ruefully. 

It is so ; the crown is dismantled, and he has no spray. 

“A remnant shall be yours.” Plucking the ribbon from 
her glove, she gathers several tiny sprays together, ties 
them with the ribbon and hands them to him. 

I feel choking with jealousy, and am angry with myself 
for being so ; and it is with difficulty that I can force myself 
to say, as I see that glove ribbon — 


22 


By the King’s Command. 

Queen of the woodlands , 

And of the flowers, 

Homage we pay thee. 

For thou art ours. 

Fives, gnomes and fairies , 

Bring mystic charms, 

Weave spells of good-luclc 
That nothing can harm. 

Give to each gorse-spray 
From hand of our queen. 

Much potent magic. 

For life’s golden dream. 

Life , love and valor. 

Maid won to wife. 

Health , wealth and honor ', 

Outlasting life. 

I am jealous of that ribbon, and I cannot but think also 
of yesterday’s rose, and wonder what it all means and what 
is happening to me. 

I notice as we arrive back at the palace that Percy', in 
lifting her from the saddle, must have given her a little 
tender pressure, for she blushes and starts, and then runs 
quickly into the palace, while he slowly and thoughtfully 
takes his way to the Cardinal’s study. 


Love and Love’s Inclinings. 


23 


CHAPTER IV. 

LOVE AND LOVERS INCLININGS. 

The next day I find myself strolling on the terrace fac- 
ing the river. The rest of the young gallants and damsels 
are by the river side, and rowing on the water, but I have 
no heart to. 

I cannot but think of the past, when my father, Sir 
Thomas Wyatt, was coadjutor with Sir Thomas Boleyn in 
the government of Norwich Castle and Anne and I were 
playfellows. Upon the battlements we have walked hand 
in hand, played in the keep, ridden the horses of our 
fathers' squires, and revelled together in the glory of inno- 
cent childhood. 

Mary and George Boleyn, and my sister Mary, being 
older, cared not to play with us. This threw us very much 
together, sweetly together, for being two years older than 
Anne, I felt responsible for her, and loved her with my boy- 
ish devotion. 

How we would build air castles, play we were knight and 
lady, exchange childish gifts, and talk of days when we 
would be grown up, and what I would do for her, and how I 
would come and claim her, and fight for her to the death. 

And when she was to leave for Hever Castle, the night be- 
fore she left she caught me crying about it, and kissed me, 
and gave me this baby chain of gold. And my mother made 
me tell where I got it, and would return it to Lady Boleyn, 
but she allowed me to keep it as a parting gift from her 
“Little Anne," and I have worn it ever since. And I must 
wear it. It would seem a sacrilege to take it off. I prom- 
ised Anne I would not, but that it was our “love token !" 


24 


By the King’s Command. 

Then I saw her again as a young lady, when she became 
one of the Princess Mary Tudor’s maids at King Henry’s 
court, but it was all too brief, for the Princess Mary mar- 
ried King Louis of France, and took her away with her ; and 
when his Majesty died, and the Queen returned, she left my 
sweet Anne at the court of Queen Claude, the wife of King 
Francis. 

And there she has been till now, and she has grown so 
beautiful, and I feel she does not think of me as she used to 
when a child. But I wonder if she does ? 

The trouble with me is (they tell me), I take things too 
seriously. I do. I am not fickle, and cannot be. I love 
her as I loved her long ago ; only my love has deeper and 
stronger grown as I have become a man. 

I hear from Mistress Carey that Anne has come home to 
settle a family feud, by being affianced to Sir Piers Butler, 
who is contesting the Earldom of Wiltshire with Sir 
Thomas; but Sir Piers is an old man in comparison to 
Anne, and maidens have but little choice in the matter, if 
their fathers wish it otherwise. 

And Percy is enamored of her, and Master Norris hov- 
ers around her. And the Earl of Northumberland is pow- 
erful and wealthy. But he has betrothed Percy to Mary 
Talbot. But then Percy has influence with the Cardinal, 
and woe be it for anyone to cross purposes with the Car- 
dinal ! 

But all that doesn’t help me a bit; it is gall and worm- 
wood ! But I will not be ridden down this way ! I can ap- 
peal to Anne. If she has any memory, any of the old love of 
our childhood ; aye, any soul ^t all — but she will ! She must ! 
Shall I write her a note for an interview? A few verses, 
declaring my love ? 

Ah, fool ! A pen isn’t a soul. 

I must see her. I will see her. Sister Mary will give 
her my message. Perhaps she won’t come ; won’t remem- 
ber. She must ! I will see her myself ! Oh, Lord ! Here 
comes Mistress Saville ! Plague of annoyances ! How can 
I talk the insipid things that she expects ! 

“Why so serious? You seem not so merry as yester- 
rnorn when riding with Mistress Boleyn to the tournament 
grounds ?” 


25 


Love and Love’s Inclinings. 

“Is that so in sooth? Perhaps yon do not know that 
Mistress Boleyn and I were playmates together at Norwich 
Castle, when we were children, and it reminds me of old 
times to see her again.” 

“Methought it was something like that, for you acted 
like an old friend, and seemed as if you were ready to be- 
gin playing again where you left off.” 

I wish with all my heart I were, and I wish also Mistress 
Saville were anyw T here but here, but I answer, “You seem to 
be in a hurry ; can I be of any service to you ?” 

“I have a message for Lord Percy, if I can ever find him. 
His Eminence needs him to go to Arragon House to the 
King, and Sir Reginald bade me so inform him, an I see 
him.” 

“They are at the barge house by the river.” 

“Then it is strange you are not with them.” 

“I was sitting here, musing, waiting for the goddess.” 

“Is the goddess fickle?” 

“Sometimes. She is with me to-day.” 

“Hast been writing verses? But you may not want me 
to see them.” This she says, hoping I will let her. 

I have no intention of letting her examine my tablets, for 
there are all my attempts at notes to Anne, so I say, “They 
are too poor to be seen. The goddess proved unkind to me, 
and failed me on inspiration, and did not stir my soul.” 

“She truly was unkind, but you may have given her 
cause ; for while maidens are capricious, we expect goddesses 
to be more constant.” 

“Are maidens capricious?” I say, musing, thinking of 
Anne. 

“Are men constant?” she says, looking keenly for my 
reply. 

“I hope so,” I say lamely, and I am glad to see the young 
people in the distance, to help me out of this insipid con- 
versation. “But there is Percy, so let us join them,” I 
say. 

Percy is entertaining Anne Boleyn with the beauties of 
the Cardinal^ palace. He is doing it to perfection, for 
they have been rowing on the river, and Anne seems not to 
be tired of his society. 

I am truly glad when Anne Saville gives him the Car- 


26 By the King’s Command. 

dinal’s message, and I see him bow himself away from her 
presence and leave for Arragon House. 

“Where have you been, Master Wyatt? We have not 
seen you this morning.” 

“Trying to catch an inspiration to write you some 
verses.” 

“I should like to see them.” 

“Then I shall blame the goddess more than ever for my 
failure,” I say tenderly. How charming it is as we dawdle 
along together in this shady walk that leads to the steps to 
the terraces that rise from the river one above the other, in 
luxurious wealth of flowering trees and verdure. 

“I am surprised the goddess would fail you in such a 
charming spot.” 

“Inspiration has come to me since I am with you, that I 
could write much.” 

“Then I will leave you here to do so.” 

“I am sure in that case I should fail,” I say with much 
meaning, if she would only understand it. 

“That is a very pretty compliment, but I remember, you 
always would flatter.” 

“I am not flattering, I mean it. And, Mistress Anne, I 
would have a quiet talk with you alone, I want to very 
much.” 

“I hope it is nothing serious?” 

“I cannot say it is not. It is something that I hope will 
give you much joy !” 

“Where shall I meet you ?” 

“By the fountains in front of the palace, at the evening 
hour.” 

“Alone?” 

“Yes, alone. I ask it for old friendship’s sake.” 

“What can you have to say to me that you cannot say 
now? But, there, you always were a strange boy, Thomas. 
But I will come,” she says innocently. 

How lightly she takes the matter! But the fates are 
with me and I will see if I cannot impress some of my soul 
upon her. Percy is away, so I have a clear field, and 
may the holy J esu be good to me. 

I cannot tell how I spend the intervening time, but long 
before the hour I am at the fountains now reclining on a 


27 


Love and Love’s Inclinings. 

bench, now feeding the fish with wheaten bread and trying 
to be natural ; yet my soul, my whole soul is upon the pal- 
ace that contains her I love, and can only ever truly love in 
the whole world. 

But here she comes, quickly moving towards me ! Per- 
haps she has found it difficult to get away alone. 

How sweet that heavenly face ! A lover’s eyes see glori- 
ously ! There is witchery in love that transforms and 
beautifies, aye, even idealizes; for now she is with me I 
begin to realize that she is innocent to the burning matter 
raging in my breast, and it almost chills me to silence and 
weakness of my purpose. For what if she refuse me ? Oh, 
heavenly J esu ! Then I shall adore her, and homage to 
Thee will be divided. 

“Let us walk this rose path, Anne,” I say lamely. 

“Master Wyatt, you look disturbed ! I can only think of 
George ; has he been gambling ? Is he in trouble ? I shall 
be grateful for any confidence.” 

She looks concerned ; so innocent ; so beautiful ! Is there 
nothing telltale in my look, my face ? Has God denied me 
expression? I can only, only lead her to a seat in a little 
rustic bower with roses trailing over it, and dropping on my 
knees reverently before her, say, “Anne ! Anne ! oh, Anne !” 

“What meaneth this, Thomas ?” she says, looking at me, 
utterly amazed. 

Releasing my doublet at the throat, I draw out her 
chain of childish days, and hold it up before her as rev- 
erently as when Father Clement holds the crucifix. “See, 
Anne ! I have always worn it ! I count this my priceless 
treasure ! You remember your promise ? Oh ! how I have 
thanked the heavenly Jesu for that night at Norwich Cas- 
tle ; it has blessed me all my life. I have never forgotten it ! 
It has made me good ; it has sweetened my life, and kept me 
true to you ! I love you, Anne ! Ever since we were chil- 
dren and began that God-given love, it has steadily grown 
and grown ; and I must tell you, I know you must have seen 
it! I know ” 

“Stop ! Stop, Master Wyatt ! You are wild ! I cannot 
understand you ! Yes, I do hut — I must not under- 

stand you !” she says as the truth flashes on her. 

I take her hand and press it to my lips, but she quickly 


28 


By the King’s Command. 

withdraws it. The childish past leaps up before her, star- 
tlingly vivid, and it seems very near when it was all true. 
When, with her childish heart and girlish nature, she im- 
periously ordered about her little knight champion so de- 
voted to her. But this is different. In her nature there 
is nothing that responds to the admiring homage from this 
gentle, knightly man, she thinks. Yet her maiden heart is 
pleased, for it is her first declaration, breathed out with the 
soul of earnestness behind it, and not the empty compli- 
ments and flirtations that some in France hath passed upon 
her. 

I hang upon her decision, as she stands before me. My 
soul pleads, and covets its desire, but she says, “Oh, 
Thomas ! it may not be !” 

“Is it true, you are betrothed ?” 

“Nay.” 

“Then why not, Anne ? Oh, why not ?” 

“Do not ask explanations, I beg of you !” 

“Am I mistaken? Does my unbroken devotion, grown 
strong and lasting, yea, everlasting, mean nothing to 
you ?” 

“Stop, stop ! It means too much !” 

“Then what can you mean?” 

“It means that it may not be. I am glad of your de- 
votion, at all that you say ; but it cannot be.” 

“Do you not love me ?” I blunder on in my agony. 

“You should not ask me ! In my heart there is no echo- 
ing chord to your deep love; only the highest admiration 
and esteem for my most singular good friend, and one, I 
trust, who will ever be so.” 

“Oh, Anne ! But our promise ! You love another ! 
Lord Percy !” I foolishly, bitterly say. 

A deep blush overspreads her face, as I unmeaningly 
sting her; and perhaps trespass upon her soul, and she 
brings me to my senses sorely. 

“That becomes you not, sir ! That is ungallant ! You 
can only be my good friend by avoiding such an intrusion 
upon me. What would Lord Percy of Northumberland 
think of your so using his name?” 

“A hound ! But have mercy ! I am sorry ! I meant not 
that! Percy is my brother in soul. But I am in agony, 


29 


Love and Love’s Inclinings. 

and you seem to treat it lightly. But, oh ! it is my soul’s 
exposure to the ouly being I can ever love in all the world.” 

“Come! We must away! You escorted me here, and 
you must walk with me further till you are composed; 
for I believe we are interrupted,” she says alarmed. 

She takes my arm, and we cross to the rideway, to escape 
a company of the young people in search of us. 

As we gain the road, Percy, with some men at arms, 
comes sweeping into the avenue, and full upon us. 

Anne releases my arm on the instant, hut I feel sure he 
has seen it; for, with a courtierly how, he rides past, 
while we walk to the palace and separate. And my soul is 
hitter ! 


30 


By the King's Command. 


CHAPTER y. 

THE TROTH-PLIGHT. 

The Cardina/s household is early astir, this day of royal 
visitation. The cooks have had no sleep, for to feed two or 
three thousand people, means a great deal of roasting, 
confection making, and preparing. There is bustle and 
confusion in high and low quarters, as all are trying to 
bring things to order. 

Great lords and ladies, knights, squires and gentry 
are constantly arriving, and Sir Reginald, level-headed as 
he is, with his great staff of assistants, and used as he is 
from King Henry VII. ’s time to magnificent displays, 
has use for patience, so that none are offended or over- 
looked by any seeming slight or neglect. 

The courts are filled with bustle and motion, of coming 
and going. Long trains of wagons, with chests containing 
the wardrobes and jewels of their Majesties and the court, 
are already arriving in charge of halberdiers. Maid and 
man seem full of care, as they flit hither and thither on 
errand bent. The palace teems with busy life and anima- 
tion, yet at noon-tide it has put on a gala hue, and all are 
filled with the eagerness of expectancy at the arrival of 
royalty. 

Among the nobility already arrived, there is a significant 
enquiry, why the Cardinal is giving such a princely enter- 
tainment? As we stroll on the terrace, the Earl of South- 
ampton says, “There was never seen in England so great 
a display for anyone less than royalty.” 

“His Eminence is imitating ithe Holy Father, in his 
capacity of ‘Legate/ I am sure he feels he is the Holy 


The Troth-Plight. 31 

Father’s equal in England, and so thinks he is not in- 
ferior to the royal Henry,” Lord Surrey replies. 

“That might do with some other monarch, but I tremble 
for the man that would affect rivalries with the royal 
Henry,” and the Earl of Southampton gravely shakes his 
head. 

“His Grace carries his head pretty high, methinks ; but it 
will be further to fall, if the King and he disagree,” Lord 
Surrey answers. 

“His Eminence is grievously disappointed we all know. 
In the last Conclave for Holy Father, he counted on the 
special influence of the Emperor Charles, with that of our 
own ioyal Henry, but he missed it in the voting.” 

“Yes. His Grace of Norfolk told me the Emperor 
cheated him. He sent a message to his friends at the con- 
clave, to favor Cardinal Wolsey’s election, and let his 
Eminence see it; but afterwards sent another secretly 
countermanding it.” 

“Well, we shall see what his Highness thinks of this,” 
Earl Southampton replies. “But here comes Sir Thomas 
Boleyn, Sir Piers Butlers, and others; so let us walk, and 
hear any further news they may bring.” 

At high noon, her royal Highness the Princess Mary ar- 
rives, the only living child of Henry and Katherine. She 
has travelled from Ludlow Castle in Wales, in the care of 
her state governess, the Marchioness of Salisbury, the 
head of her household, and Lady Margaret Bryan, her lady 
in waiting, with a goodly attendance of knights and gen- 
tlemen. 

Princess Mary was a sickly child at birth, but now in her 
tenth year is a young girl of rather grave deportment, 
medium height, fair of flesh, with beautiful brown hair 
and eyes, of a royal presence and scholarly mien. She can 
converse in Latin, and can play creditably on the virginals 
and lute. 

His Eminence comes to the foot of the grand stairs to 
meet her, kisses her gravely, and gives her his benediction, 
for he is her godfather, and his Grace hath a kindly inter- 
est in this very strict daughter of the church. 

“Our young princess looks well. I wonder why she is 
here? I thought she was sent to Wales for spite work to 


32 By the King’s Command. 

our royal Katherine?” Earl Southampton says in a whis- 
per. 

“She was, so rumor says, but the King is evidently pleas- 
ing the Queen in having her here for some purpose,” says 
Lord Surrey. 

“What about these rumors of a divorce ?” says Sir 
Thomas Boleyn. 

“His Majesty (God save him) is getting a little tired 
of the royal Katherine. She is past pleasing his lusty 
amours, and complains at his flirtations, and it rasps his 
Majesty in a tender spot,” whispers Lord Surrey. 

“I have heard such bruitings, too, from Sir Thomas 
More, who is a warm friend of our royal Katherine,” the 
Earl of Southampton says. 

“Well, we shall see what we shall see, for the Cardinal 
hath some deep scheme on foot, or why such a lavish dis- 
play as you see before you?” says Lord Surrey. 

“Your daughter is here. Sir Thomas. She is a most 
charming maiden. France hath surely agreed with her; 
she will be a perfect flower for the butterflies of the court, 
and I see the young Lord Percy of Northumberland af- 
fects her society,” says the Earl. 

“I am glad you have so good an opinion of my little 
Anne, and as for the young lord, I believe he is affianced 
to the Lady Mary Talbot,” Sir Thomas replies. 

“He is a gallant and brave noble, and one of the fore- 
most of the younger set,” Sir Piers Butler says, as we 
saunter towards the palace. 

“Aye, and that he is,” I heartily acquiesce. 

But I must explain about yesterday. 

When Percy was at Arragon House, waiting on his Maj- 
esty, he met Master Humphrey Monmouth, Sheriff and 
Alderman of London, one of his Majesty’s drapers, who was 
waiting on the Queen’s Mistress of the Robes. 

Knowing him to be a man well acquainted with the New 
Learning, he entered into conversation with him about 
Master Tyndale’ s disaffection. 

“It is said Master Tyndale is flooding London with 
copies of the prohibited gospels,” Percy says. 

“Master Tyndale is very zealous that the gospels 
should be read, my lord.” 


The Troth-Plight. 33 

“But my lord Cardinal is very strict that they shall 
not be.” 

“I am well aware of that, but I assure you they are 
a harmless work; for, see, I will trust your lordship 
with a copy that a friend hath passed to me, and you 
can judge for yourself,” saying which he produces a 
small copy from his robe. 

It is a black velvet covered book, clasped with a 
golden clasp; a dainty thing and attractive to Percy’s 
eye. He thinks, “Would not that be a fitting gift for 
Anne, so pretty and so dainty?” and answers, “It will 
please me to read it, but what is the cost?” 

“I will give it to you, but it will prove an injury to you 
and to me should his Eminence see it.” 

“I cannot accept it as a gift, Master Monmouth, as I 
may wish to give it to a friend; but if you will let me 
pay for it I will take it, and you can trust me, your 
name shall not be known in the transaction.” 

“As you will, my lord, and may it please you at some 
future time to inform me as to your liking for it.” 

“I surely will do so.” 

Percy had this troth-plight gift when he saw Anne 
and me together, and it piqued his jealousy; but when he 
came to his lodging, and saw me so sad and downcast, 
his goodness and pity overcame his jealousy, for he 
could see I was heart wounded. So he sat down quietly 
and read the evangel book till quite late, until he saw 
that I could not sleep, when he came over to me and 
says, “Thomas, am I worthy your confidence?” 

“Yes! A thousand times, yes! And I have not 
treated you openly. But my heart is pained!” And 
then I just tell him all. 

It is such a relief, and he has the tact not to com- 
ment; but presently says, “Thomas, I love Anne Boleyn 
in a way beyond telling; and I am going to ask her to 
accept this token,” showing me the volume. “She is 
so charming, and so exceedingly winsome, as you know, 
that I must declare to her what I feel, for I hear she is 
to be betrothed by her father to Sir Piers Butler, and 
that would be hateful to her, and a grief beyond telling 
to me.” 


34 


By the King’s Command. 

“I would do so, for I know she is not for me; and my 
childish dreams and manly hopes are blasted forever; 
but I shall never marry other !” 

This trial of my life draws me closer than ever to the 
brother of my soul; and this day, as we are walking in 
the cloisters, we see Anne alone. 

"It is my opportunity, Thomas,” he says, as he leaves 
me, and my heart is sick at the thought that even Percy 
is asking the one that my soul says is truly mine, to be 
his wife, and I walk away. 

"Let us stroll towards the chapel,” he says to Anne. 

"Are you not busy just now? I heard they were soon 
to set out to meet their Majesties.” 

"We are, in an hour’s time. But his Eminence is 
engaged with the young Princess Mary, and I have just the 
time I want.” 

Opening the door, he leads her into the deserted 
chapel, where they stroll to the altar and kneel before it. 
Gently detaining her there, he takes from his doublet 
the evangel book, and opens it. She sees a withered 
trose ! and a glove ribbon ! "These are what you gave 
me !” he says tenderly. "I like to think you were pleased 
to give them to me ! And I was so glad to receive them ! 
I have two things for you : My heart ! with all it means, 
for I LOVE you, I LOVE you with all my soul! And 
this troth-plight token, as the seal of our love!” 

She rises from her knees, and pushes back the volume, 
as she says, "I may not! Oh, I may not!” 

He catches her hands in his and detains them, as on 
his knees he looks up into her beautiful face, as he says, 
"Why may you not?” 

"My father! Sir Piers Butler!” she stammers out, 
as the delicious truth of his noble love bursts upon her. 

"Are you affianced to Sir Piers?” 

"Fay, I am not,” she says with some scorn. 

"Then thank the holy Jesu I am not too late,” and 
asking not her permission, he catches her to his heart, 
and kisses her dearly: and she does not resist him. 

"I could not go and meet the King until I saw you! 
I had to tell you, Anne. Do you love me?” 

Shyly she answers, "I love you well, but- 


99 


The Troth-Plight. 


35 


“But what?” 

“My father hath acquainted me with his wishes re- 
specting Sir Piers.” 

“And what said you?” 

“I would not !” 

“Then it shall not be!” 

“My father says I am to meet Sir Piers this night, 
and the affiancement is to take place.” 

“It never will!” 

“They say it must, to weld together the two quarrel- 
ing houses; and they are to end it by my becoming 
Countess; and my step-mother says I am wilful.” 

“The saints bless thee for thy wilfulness !” 

“It may cause thee pain,” she says, showing emotion. 

“Be not distressed, for Sir Piers’s wife you shall not 
be, but mine !” 

“But Sir Piers hath influence.” 

“And so have I, with the Cardinal, and we will see 
who will win.” 

There are cries of “Lord Henry Percy in attendance 
on his Eminence Cardinal Wolsey !” ringing in the cor- 
ridors. 

Catching her again to his heart, he leaves with a buoy- 
ant step, as she sinks upon her knees at the altar rail. 

She listens to his receding footsteps, in the awakening 
of this holy love that is flooding her soul. She strains 
the volume to her breast, and kisses her treasured troth- 
plight; then offering a prayer to the Holy Virgin, she 
seeks her chamber to make ready to meet Queen Kath- 
erine. 

I can see the result with Percy, without telling; and 
after he has assisted the Cardinal to mount, he man- 
ages to join me, when I give his hand a pressure, but 
with a sick heart. 

It is an immense cavalcade. The Cardinal is dressed 
all in red, even to his shoes, which are jewelled with 
buckles of gold and carbuncles. His gloves are jewelled 
also on the back. He is surrounded with bishops, ab- 
bots, lords and ladies, squires and knights; a gallant 
company, as he rides forth with the Princess Mary at 
his side. 


30 


By the King’s Command. 

“Did not his Majesty name four of the clock, as the 
honr of his arrival?” the Cardinal asks of Percy, as he 
casts his eyes up to the sun. 

“Yes, your Grace.” 

“Then they will soon be coming.” 

The young Princess is charmed at all she sees, and par- 
ticularly at the Diana fountain, with its promise of illu- 
mination. 

They do not reach the end of the long avenue, when a 
great cavalcade is seen swinging into view ; the central fig- 
ures showing them to be his august Majesty, the mighty 
King Henry VIII. and the royal Katherine of England. 


i 


King Henry VIII. and Queen Katherine. 37 


CHAPTER VI. 

KING HENRY VIII. AND QUEEN KATHERINE. 

5 Tis a goodly sight to see the very flower of England com- 
ing together this beautiful June afternoon. 

I should like to be able to fathom the thoughts of the 
Cardinal, for this is a. master stroke on the part of his 
Grace to please the royal Henry. 

You see it is like this: His Majesty wanted to recom- 
mence war with France, and applied to his Grace, who is 
the Lord Chancellor, to raise the loan. The subject being 
pressed on the people, caused riots to break out, which 
took the Duke of Norfolk a long time to quell, and not with- 
out a good many hangings. 

Also the Emperor Charles has been pressing for the hand 
of his young cousin, the Princess Mary, to whom he is affi- 
anced ; not that he wants her care so very badly, as that he 
wants her immense dowry, with 200,000 ducats additional. 
And the treasury is nearly empty! And his Majesty is 
angry with the Cardinal, with the people, with the Em- 
peror, and nearly everybody else, when money matters 
are failing. His Majesty, King Henry VII., his royal 
father, left him the princely fortune of six million dollars, 
which he has already managed to spend; for his Majesty 
gambles to the tune of six to eight thousand ducats in a 
day; but then they all like to play with his Majesty. 

The nobles, who do not love Cardinal Wolsey, draw his 
Highness 5 attention to the fact of the riches of his Emi- 
nence and the poverty of the royal treasury, and there are 
a good many who do not like his Eminence, I can tell you. 

Now, whether Wolsey will please his Highness with all 
this magnificence, or rouse his jealousy, is more than I can 
tell, 


38 


By the King’s Command. 

As the royal train approaches, the Cardinal dismounts 
£md walks to meet their Majesties, while King Henry rides 
forward and takes the hand of the Cardinal. 

“We are pleased to partake of your Grace’s hospitality, 
and from the signs I see around me, we are to be enter- 
tained in 'princely fashion,” the King says, with a meaning 
that makes the nobles glance at each other. 

His Grace takes the hand of her Majesty and kisses it, as 
he replies : 

“And it please your Majesties to partake of my humble 
hospitality, it will gratify me much; as all I have is by 
your royal grace, and I know no higher privilege than to 
share it with your Majesties.” 

“Let us move forward, my lord, so be mounted,” the 
King says to his Grace. 

As they move on, it is a good opportunity for us to take a 
good look at their Majesties. 

King Henry came to the throne in his nineteenth year. 
As a younger son, he had been educated for the church, 
becoming an accomplished scholar, and so laying the foun- 
dation in himself to meet the agitated theological questions 
that the Eeformation is stirring up. 

He is taller than any, broader than any, extremely hand- 
some ; fair haired, with golden beard and moustache. 
Keally nature could not have done more for him in looks. 

He possesses prodigious strength and endurance, is a 
hard wrestler, an untiring hunter, wearing out as many as 
six and eight horses in a day’s sport, as he is so heavy in 
the saddle, and rides hard. He can draw a bow with any of 
his archers, and few can withstand him in the tourney. He 
plays well, and has composed some music ; he loves poetry, 
delighting in my Lord Surrey’s verses, and also in mine ; 
he also loves painting, enjoying the work of Master Hans 
Holbein, who permanently resides at court. 

His Majesty is very frank in speech, almost to bluntness, 
and can get very angry at times, as I well know. He is 
scrupulous in religion, having his own opinions in these 
matters ; but then he was educated for the church, and I 
suppose he should know. 

He looks well to-day, for he is at the height of physical 
perfection, lusty and strong, and thirty-five years old. He is 


King Henry VIII. and Queen Katherine. 39 

dressed in purple velvet, with lighter colored silken hose; 
his shoes of the latest design, with broadening toes that 
are replacing the long, pointed, turned up ones. His pur- 
ple cloak, silk damasked lined, is thrown carelessly over his 
shoulder, a jewelled and plumed bonnet sits jauntily upon 
his head, and he looks superb as he rides his horse grace- 
fully, and a thousand who have never seen him, would select 
him as the King. 

Queen Katherine of Arragon is in her fortieth year, but 
none can see any disparity of age between her and the 
King. For twenty years she has been the devoted wife of 
King Henry, whom she idolizes; and when he was away to 
the wars, made a model regent, resisting a Scottish invasion 
with victorious success. 

As a daughter of Spain, she has that beautiful ivory com- 
plexion, with good color in her cheeks, a sparkling eye, viva- 
cious manner, kindly heart, a devoted religionist, amiable 
and accomplished, kind to her friends, charitable to all, 
and devoted to her husband. 

Three sons have died soon after birth, causing her un- 
speakable grief, and the King infinite vexation; and it is 
largely on this account that the King is superstitiously rest- 
less, saying it is a judgment of heaven because he married 
his brother’s wife. But we know differently, for he shows 
that he is tiring of her by his flirtations with others. 

Two weeks ago he insulted the Queen dreadfully by de- 
claring his illegitimate son, Henry Fitzroy, should succeed 
him, and he created him Duke of Richmond with great 
pomp, though only six years old, passing the Queen’s 
daughter, our young Princess Mary by, to the Queen’s 
indignation and vexation. 

But she looks lovely to-day. She is dressed in a dark 
blue velvet riding habit, with hood and rich lace veil flow- 
ing over her shoulders ; but the thing that makes her face 
glow is that her daughter Mary is here to meet her, and she 
scarcely knows to whom to feel grateful most, the Car- 
dinal or the King, for this happy surprise, for they are 
saying that the King has banished the Princess to Lud- 
low Castle to vex her Majesty ; but really she is incapable 
of being vexed that way, only deeply wounded, and we all 
pity her. 


40 


By the King’s Command. 

But they are moving forward, Percy and I behind his 
Eminence, who rides at the side of his Majesty. 

“This looks like the suggestion of joust and tournament, 
Lord Percy, and where have ye hidden the lists ?” his 
Majesty says, looking round. 

“To the right, Sire, in the forest.” 

“Good ! Then I shall take a tilt with you.” 

“I shall be pleased to try skill with your Majesty.” 

Checking the ardor of our horses, we drop back and 
mingle with the courtiers. 

A squeaky voice arrests our ear with, “I shall be glad to 
try a tilt with you, my Lord Decorous, an you are out of 
Your teens, and can hold a lance !” and a . little perky 
man, of unknowable age, dressed in parti-color, with 
peaked cap and bells, and mounted on an immense charger, 
decked and trapped with ribbons and streamers, bobs and 
bows at us. He is riding with the French Ambassador, 
M. Du-Belay, who enjoys exchanging quips with him. 

“Is that you, Master Will Somers? Well, since you 
have so fine a charger, I will get you a knightly opponent, 
for Sir Wittypate, his Eminence’s jester, is consuming to 
match lances with an equal in arms, or perhaps you prefer 
to tilt with swords, for I see you have your needle with 
you.” 

“All right, my lord. With my needle I will try tapestry 
work on Sir Wittypate, for I will prick him all over to a 
crimson pattern,” and the dwarf in his conceit looks as 
fierce as a bantam cock crowing at a challenge. 

Riding close to his Majesty is the King’s brother-in-law, 
the Duke of Suffolk, with his wife, the Princess Mary 
Tudor, formerly King Louis XII. of France’s wife. We 
nod and exchange compliments with Sir Thomas More, 
whom the King will have close to him; and to my Lord 
Treasurer, the Duke of Norfolk, and her Grace the Duch- 
ess; to Dr. Fisher, the Bishop of Rochester; to Sir Henry 
Guilford, the Comptroller of his Majesty’s household, who 
rides with Master Anthony Brown, his Majesty’s Master of 
Horse. But there are too many to mention. 

We join in conversation with Dr. Linacre, we think the 
most eminent of his Majesty’s physicians, though Dr. 
Butts is quite a favorite. 


King Henry VIII. and Queen Katherine. 41 

“Good afternoon, Doctor. We give you hearty welcome 
to Hampton Court. I hope the cheer and fare of his 
Grace will be such that your services will not be required 
other than to mend a few broken shoulders or cracked 
crowns in the tourney/* Percy says. 

“Thank you for your good wishes, Percy, hut valor will 
have lost its art and chivalry its champions, if I am not 
needed after such a wealth of preparation and festivity 
that the Cardinal hath invited us to.** 

“How like you the Diana fountain?** I ask. 

“Why, Master Wyatt, there is nothing like it in all 
England. It is gorgeous ! See how the setting sun plays 
with the spray of the fountain turning it to rainbows, 
and the effect is, as if the goddess is flinging diamonds 
broadcast.** 

“Here I must leave you, Thomas,** Percy says to me, 
“or I shall be late at the entrance to assist his Eminence, 
who will miss me.** 

Putting spurs to his horse, he gallops into the deep 
ferns and gorse, and makes his way through a private door, 
that admits of but a single rider at a time, that brings him 
close to the grand entrance of the palace. 

Here we see him as we come in a little while, assisting 
his Grace to dismount, while the Duke of Suffolk holds 
the stirrup of the King. 

The Cardinal assists her Majesty to dismount, and 
taking her hand leads her up the grand stairway to the 
royal apartments, his Majesty, who walks at his right, re- 
marking: “In faith your Grace is royally housed, and I 
doubt if his Holiness hath better furnishments.** 

“Your Majesty is kind to notice my humble abode.** 

“Humble, call you it? Why, it makes our Court look 
dingy in comparison.** 

“Hot when your Highness is present, and her noble 
Majesty, who art the sun and soul of our lives; but I, a 
humble churchman, need some poor furnishments to fitly 
represent holy church, that your Highnesses so dearly 
love.** 

“That is true, Wolsey,** his Majesty replies as he passes 
on to the royal apartments. 

During the stir and bustle and settlement of everybody 


42 


By the King’s Command. 

there is very little for me to do, .and so I wander down to 
the river side and commune with my own thoughts and 
the soreness of my heart, at having to forever give up the 
thought of my heart’s love. 

I am really soul sick, and can only think and think. 

Presently, I intuitively feel someone is near me, though 
I hear no one, for I am sprawled on the ground in front 
of a rustic seat close to the edge of the river. 

Looking through the open work of the seat, I see it is 
Anne Boleyn, walking up and down, and looking towards 
the palace, for evidently she is expecting somebody. She 
carries in her hand Percy’s little black velvet book, and 
once and again she puts it to her lips. 

I am about to rise and speak to her, when I remember 
she wants not to see me ! Is not here to see me ! The 
thought of it is like burning fire laid against my heart, and 
I lay still and watch her. Yes, watch her ! for I cannot 
help it. 

Presently she slips the little book into her bosom and 
looks with animated face to meet some one. It is Percy ! 
And he comes forward with both hands held out, and she 
lets him gather her into his arms, and oh, heavenly J esu ! 
he kisses her ! 

The young moon, with silver crescent, looks down at 
them; the glorious twilight of this summer evening is 
resisting night’s approach, and almost refuses to shadow 
them ; the air is laden with the perfume of lavender and 
roses, and rabbits peep at these lovers and scarcely hop out 
of their path ; I hear a pheasant call to its mate to sit close 
on her eggs because of intruders of quiet haunts ; and as I 
see them in the dimming distance, wholly absorbed in each 
other, and Percy stealing his arm about her, my soul 
writhes as if in pain, not so much with jealousy at him ! at 
them ! but at the contrarities of life, and I walk away, 
away for miles, before my lodging sees me. 


The Hawking Party. 


43 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE HAWKING PARTY. 

At sun up the next morning Percy is awake and calling 
me, “Thomas, Thomas ! let us take a turn in the lists for 
practice.” 

“I am willing,” I say, rising and dressing. 

I never saw anyone more light hearted and buoyant than 
he seems. Nature is golden and glorious, and his soul 
is satisfied, for he has perfect physical strength, and the 
love of one peerless among women. And that should 
make a man a man if anything will. 

As we ride along, the meadow lark spurns the earth with 
her foot and mounts and sings to the god of day, and 
Percy says, “That songster has learned to love. Thomas, 
hear him sing to his mate in the grass.” 

“You are very buoyant this morning.” 

“Is it not a time for lightness of heart? You are 
not poetic. Look at yonder throstle, on topmost twig of 
haw tree, white as snow with May blossoms, singing to his 
mate in her bower of bridal bloom. Why, Thomas, I 
was reading a book the other evening that seemed to have 
the key to nature, and that dwelt on love.” 

“That is well enough for you, but love must be in the 
soul, for no book, methinks, could impart that to one; it 
must be the experience of two natures in harmony.” 

“I suppose it must, I expect it is ! But let us gallop, 
for my blood is in the mood.” 

Our horses are in the humor for it, and as they leap 
through the deep ferns, send showers of sparkling dew- 
drops all over us, that put us in condition for the lists. 

A number of the veterans and gallants of the court are 


44 


By the King’s Command. 

already practising, and Percy enters into it with more 
spirit than myself, and dismounts man after man. 

I have to return earlier than Percy, as I am in at- 
tendance on his Highness; hut his Majesty is not a very 
early riser, so that when I follow him into the Queen’s 
antechamber, it is a scene of busy workers, for her Majesty 
likes not any to be around her idle, setting an example her- 
self in embroidering, and sewing, that is commendable. 

“Good morrow, Kate,” his Majesty says, going to the 
Queen and kissing her. He has not kissed her for many 
days lately, and this salutation, coupled with the return 
of her daughter to her, makes her beautiful face beam, 
as she says, “A happy morning to you, Sire.” 

“Ho, there. Master Korris ! Let the courtiers in wait- 
ing be admitted that wish to see us,” his Majesty calls. 

Many, in waiting for introductions to their Majesties, 
on their arrival at Hampton Court, are admitted, and 
among them I see Sir Thomas Boleyn and Anne. Sir 
Thomas takes his daughter to the King’s sister, the Duch- 
ess of Suffolk, and there is a pleasurable meeting between 
them, as Anne used to be one of her ladies, as I have told 
you. 

The Duchess brings her to the Queen, and says, “This, 
your Majesty, is Mistress Anne Boleyn, who went with me 
to France; and since I refused the second time to become 
France’s queen, but married my Lord of Suffolk instead, 
she deserted me for Queen Claude. But she was a sweet 
maid then, and I trow she is now.” 

Sinking on her knees, Anne takes the hand of Queen 
Katherine, who says to her, “I am pleased to see you, 
Mistress Anne. We are jealous of our maidens being 
weaned away to foreign courts, and how is her Majesty 
Queen Claude?” 

“Her Majesty sent her loving greeting to your Highness 
by me, and her Majesty was well when I left the French 
court.” 

“I thank you for Queen Claude’s kindly message, and 
in future you will be near our person.” 

“That is well, and I heartily echo your sentiments, 
Kate !” says the King, coming forward. 

“And so this is your daughter. Sir Thomas?” he says, 


45 


The Hawking Party. 

looking quizzically at Anne. “And by my troth, you are to 
be blamed for hiding away so beautiful an English rose in 
France’s conservatory.” 

With a becomingness rendered perfect from court life, 
Anne hides her blushes as she bends over his Majesty’s 
hand, when the King detains hers in his, as he says, 
“Sent not his Majesty any message to me?” 

“Not by me, Sire.” 

“He could have found no fairer messenger.” 

Eeleasing her hand, which he has held too long, she 
moves away, making room for Sir Piers Butler. He is a 
country knight of sterling worth, caring not for courts or 
court life. Evidently his Majesty has heard that Anne is 
to be sacrificed in marriage as a compromise for the earl- 
dom of Wiltshire ; for, as Sir Piers passes along, the King 
says to Sir Thomas Boleyn: 

“Methinks you could find a more even match for yon 
dainty rose than that fatherly knight, for I trow he has 
seen the other side of sixty summers.” 

“Sire, a compromise has been effected between our 
joint houses, because of the dispute in the Wiltshire earl- 
dom, but ” 

“But! There’s no ‘buts’ in the matter. If I were the 
maid, I’d set ye at defiance, and if she came to me, I’d 
back her in the suit,” the King says bluntly. Sir Thomas 
backs himself away from the royal presence and reflects. 
Sir Piers certainly is unsuited for his “little Anne;” and 
this hint from his Majesty, if used to advantage, may still 
procure for him the mruch coveted Earldom, without the 
sacrifice of his daughter. 

Percy has not been idle this morning, for an inspiration 
has come to him. Anne has been telling him all about her 
father’s intention to affiance her to Sir Piers, and he 
thinks, I will take the Cardinal into my heart confidence. 
When robing him for Chapel attendance, he tells him of 
his love for Anne. “I thought you told me you were 
‘heart free’ but for some love you had for a certain man ?” 
the Cardinal says quizzically. 

“The man’s place is not taken. No one on earth could 
take the place of my adopted father !” Percy says earnestly. 

“That is well !” the Cardinal says with deep feeling. 


46 


By the King’s Command. 

Who would think the Cardinal could be moved this 
way? But then, all the world doesn’t know that Wolsey 
once loved, and was married. The wife of his youth is 
dead. His daughter is in a convent. His natural son goes 
under another name, and is supported by his father. Am- 
bition rules his soul, and men think he has no feeling. 

But that is not so. Under the iron crust of his nature, 
Percy has crept into his soul, and the Cardinal has secretly 
adopted the young heir of the Earl of Northumberland, 
whom his father, for some moody reason, dislikes, and 
has placed in the Cardinal’s household for training. 

“Mistress Anne is a lovely maid, but what will the Lady 
Mary think, and the Earl of Shrewsbury, her father ?” the 
Cardinal enquires. 

“I cannot say, but I would die first rather than be mar- 
ried to the Lady Mary Talbot,” Percy says, strongly. 

“Tut, tut ! Be not so fiery ! We will see about it ! The 
Earl, your father, will have to be informed, but I think I 
can tame his wrath, if he has any !” and the Cardinal smiles 
at the thought of his power with the most obstinate of 
nobles. 

“The main difficulty will be with Sir Thomas Boleyn 
and Sir Piers, your Grace.” 

“I can settle that easily, for the matter belongs to our 
Chancery court.” 

“Then your Grace makes me happy,” Percy replies 
gladly, for all difficulties seem removed. 

“That is well. But I am in a hurry, and you are de- 
taining me about such trifles as a boyish love,” he says 
with a smile, as he hurries away. 

In the afternoon a merry party, with his Eminence, 
rides with his Majesty, to a marsh three miles away. His 
Grace’s falconers go with them, with the royal “Ger fal- 
cons,” to hunt heron and crane. 

His Majesty rides between the Duke of Suffolk and the 
Cardinal, and Percy and I, with a train of nobles and 
ladies, follow them. Anne Boleyn rides with the King’s 
sister, the Duchess of Suffolk. 

Presently the King halts his horse, and allows his sister 
to come up with him. Anne checks hers to drop back 
with us, but his Majesty will not have it so. “Let us get 


The Hawking Party. 47 

acquainted, Mistress Boleyn. Have you hunted very much 
in France?” 

“Yes, your Highness, King Francis is fond of hunting; 
also the Queen of Navarre, his sister, and I usually ac- 
companied them.” 

“Then I shall wager you that my hawk will beat yours, 
and bring down the first game.” * 

“Your Highness may, seeing that you know the birds; 
but if my pet falcon were on my wrist, that I left in 
France, I would take your wager, whatever you name.” 

“Ah, that is . so ! I did not name the wager. I will 
bet you my brooch,” pointing with his finger to the jewel 
that fastens his plume. “And what will you bet me?” 

“I will bet you my ring,” she says, alluding to a plain 
gold band that encircles her finger. “But I have a sure 
hope of winning, for Lord Percy selected my hawk for me.” 

“And so the Lord Percy selects for you?” he says quiz- 
zically. 

“He did in this instance, your Majesty.” And Anne, 
in spite of herself, turns fiery red, as the King looks hard 
at her. 

“Lord Percy is a gallant young mian, and many ladies 
admire him. He must be careful, for he may wound 
hearts, as he is engaged to be married, I believe.” 

Anne wonders how the King can know of their engage- 
ment, and in her confusion says: “To whom does your 
Majesty refer?” 

“Oh ! you must ask the Lady Mary Talbot all about that, 
for I believe the Lady Mary is very fond of him,” he 
says, laughing. 

A cruel jealousy takes hold of the heart of Anne, and. 
fearful that the King shall detect it, she rallies her powers 
and says: “I am so recently from France, Sire, that I am 
scarce acquainted with the young gallants of your court, 
but the Lord Percy is friendly in good offices to all.” 

“You are a good observer,” he says, laughing. “I will 
wager he is particularly friendly to you, an I am no 
monarch. But try your luck, Mistress Anne, for yonder 
flies your game.” 

Dexterously releasing his falcon at a rising heron, the 
King shouts, and spurs his horse to follow. 


48 


By the King’s Command. 

Anne, in her confusion, is not quite as rapid, but her 
hawk makes a bold, quick flight; but the King’s has the 
start, and as Anne gallops after it the King says to her: 
“You may toss me the ring.” 

“Not so, Sire; it is not won yet. Speed! Speed!” she 
cries animatedly. 

“No good, you see!” he shouts, as his falcon strikes, 
and when they reach the quarry he leaps from his horse, 
and, going to her, looks up into her face, as he holds out 
his hand for the ring. 

Slowly she takes it from her finger, and in giving it to 
him says : “I think you took advantage of me. Sire.” 

“Never mind, I have the ring! But you see, it will not 
fit, but I can make it,” he saj^s, dropping it into his pocket. 

We come up as the passage of the ring occurs, and Anne 
blushes, as she catches our eyes. Percy says : “What does 
that mean, Thomas ?” 

“I don’t know r , but he is delighting Anne.” 

“I somehow was afraid of that, when he looked at her 
so interestedly yesterday.” 

“See how he rides off with her.” 

It is true, his Majesty takes pleasure in matching birds 
with her again and again, and spends a merry afternoon; 
the courtiers notice the King’s preference, and follow 
their master’s lead, that Anne is flattered and made so 
much of, that the time to her is of the gayest. 

It is early in the evening when Percy sends a message 
by me to Anne to have her meet him near the wicket gate 
leading into the “wilderness.” 

As she comes to him, he says : “Anne, Anne, dear one ! 
What have you to say to me?” 

“What do you mean ?” 

“The King ! What did you give him ?” 

“You are questioning me! Do you mean my wager?” 
she says, with the thoughts of him and the Lady Mary run- 
ning in her mind that chills her speech. 

“Wager, was it?” he says, eager to know more. 

“Yes, my lord, and his Majesty told me quite a little 
court gossip that you did not inform me of before.” 

“What did he tell thee?” 

“Something that you should, my lord, and that will 


49 


The Hawking Party. 

cause me to return you this book, that truly belongs to 
another,” she says with quivering voice. 

“Oh, heavenly Jesu! Did the King tell thee that? It 
is not so ! I never have, by word, or deed, or look, or 
thought, acknowledged my father’s affiancement; and the 
Lady Mary will tell thee the same. That is cruel, and the 
King is that, to tell thee,” he says bitterly, at his Majesty’s 
cruelty. 

“He told me not in the way you think, but spoke of it as 
a matter that all know; and I am hurt at thee to give me 
what is not thine, when thou art pledged to another. So, 
take the book, and — give it — to the — Lady Mary, — for I 
may not have it !” she says with a little sob. 

“Do not treat me so ! I may not, I cannot take it ! 
You treat my great love lightly ! Oh, heavenly Jesu, help 
me make her understand ! I love none but you ! Anne, 
you are the only woman I ever loved !” and in his earnest- 
ness he folds her to his heart, as he explains all to her. 

“But why do you object to my wager with the King?” 
she says innocently. 

“You do not know his Majesty.” 

“He is the Queen’s husband.” 

“I know, but I may not tell thee. I know that I would 
rather die than have our sweet love broken.” 

“He shall never break it,” 

“Yet I fear him, he is all powerful ; and so subtle.” 

“I fear him not, and I am only a maiden.” 

“That is my fear, for you are such a dear, beautiful 
maiden.” 

“I think you are a little jealous because I gave him my 
ring. But, see, I will give thee this heart-shaped locket, 
that will always remind you who owns the real one,” she 
says, taking it with the chain from her neck and giving 
it to him. 

“That will make me brave for the lists,” he says, kissing 
it as he takes it, 

“Why so?” 

“Because I hope to fight the King, and vanquish him for 
thee,” he says, as they come to the palace. 

Wlien I am unrobing his Majesty for the night he says to 


50 


By the King’s Command. 

me, “Master Wyatt, you young gallants have a winsome 
addition to your company/’ 

“Whom do you mean, Sire ?” 

“Mistress Anne Boleyn,” he says, eyeing me. 

“Yes, Sire, Mistress Boleyn is certainly beautiful, and 
Sir Piers Butler will have a charming wife,” I say, lead- 
ing him on. 

“Sir Piers Butler! A compromise! There are other 
ways than that of becoming Countess !” he says. “Do you 
think the young damsel will be willing j^o be matched with 
a sixty year old lover?” 

“I know not, Sire. But I think Mistress Boleyn hath 
a will of her own !” 

“And I would have, too. And I admire her for it.” 

Dismissing me, I repair to my lodgings with Percy, 
where I find him in great agitation. But I tell him not 
what the King has said. 


Mystifications. 


51 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MYSTIFICATIONS. 

Lady Boleyn, wife of Sir Thomas, and step-mother to 
Mistress Mary Carey, Anne and George Boleyn, is strolling 
in the gardens of his Eminence’s palace, on the afternoon, 
of the hawking party ; and she is glad to be there, for Lady 
Boleyn has ambitions views. 

My lady is of plebeian birth, not ranking with the Lady 
Elizabeth Howard, a daughter of the house of Norfolk, the 
former wife of Sir Thomas, and mother of his children. 

Sir Thomas has married his present wife because of 
a very fat dowry she brought him, and that he is enjoying, 
that mends his much depleted income. And my lady is 
enjoying the higher social step that she has purchased, and 
loves to be called “my lady,” and ready for any further 
social advantages that fortune may cast in her way. 

Her marriage was not effected without some opposition 
from Sir Thomas’s kinsmen and children, and notably his 
“wilful Anne;” but the dowry prevailed, and my lady is 
diplomatic and not resentful. 

She is thinking of the marriage of Anne to Sir Piers 
Butler, and the hint of his Majesty to her husband this 
morning. 

How she would like to meet the King! 

His bluff, over-riding character just suits her. 

Though not yet acknowledged at court, she feels the 
equal of the stately dames that hardly notice her, and par- 
ticularly her Grace of Norfolk, the proud aunt of her 
step-children. 

Countess of Wiltshire ! The very thought of it gives her 
a delicious pang, and she actually bows low, as she imagines 


52 By the King’s Command. 

herself curtseying to their Majesties in homage at the 
title. 

If Sir Piers Butler marries Anne, then this title will be 
beyond her grasp, and Sir Thomas is foolish concerning 
Anne anyway, as if no one is to be studied but her. 

Anne will never miarry Sir Piers, if she can prevent it, 
that is certain. 

And the young Earl of Northumberland is enamored of 
Anne, and that would be well enough if they were only 
betrothed; for that would leave the field open for her am- 
bition. 

And the Cardinal and his Majesty seem to favor Sir 
Thomas, and most likely his Grace of Norfolk’s influence 
can be secured to favor their suit for the coveted earldom. 
Who knows? 

Ah ! here is Sir Piers. 

“Enjoying the sunshine and flowers, Lady Boleyn?” 

“Yes, Sir Piers. And did you not ride to the hawking?” 

“No, and I am glad I did not, as I have now the pleasure 
of conversing with you.” 

“Indeed!” and her ladyship inclines to Sir Piers, and 
awaits his further speech, which she suspects is about Anne. 

“I feel sure you are aware of Sir Thomas’s agreement 
with myself respecting his daughter Anne, and I hope I 
may look for your favor for an early marriage.” 

“You take me by surprise. Sir Piers, for I know nothing 
of a formal agreement entered into between Sir Thomas 
and yourself.” 

“Only understood between us; not binding, for Mistress 
Anne has not been informed. But I solicit your favor, 
Lady Boleyn, as Sir Thomas is yielding his claim to the 
earldom of Wiltshire in favor of his daughter Anne, be- 
cause of the Butlers’ nearer kinship, and Sir Thomas’s 
family will enjoy the same through the Countess Anne, 
which she will become on her marriage with me.” 

If Sir Piers is expecting to solicit support for his claim 
from Lady Boleyn by reminding her that Anne’s marriage 
with himself will spoil all her ambitious views, it is well 
that he cannot read that lady’s thoughts, for she answers 
with some spirit : 

“This is all news to me, Sir Piers, and I surely shall 


Mystifications. 53 

consult Sir Thomas about it; for by what he has informed 
me of the family history, I consider his claim equal with 
your own, and the court should decide it.” 

“You do not favor mjy suit, then?” 

“Not for the earldom, Sir Piers, and as to the mar- 
riage, I cannot say. But I have only admiration for you, 
Sir Piers, as a kinsman ; and the other matters are subjects 
for calm reflection.” 

It is a serious matter for her ladyship to reflect upon, if 
Sir Thomas has gone so far without her knowledge. 

But his Majesty is returning from the hunting, and is 
riding with Mistress Anne, and his Majesty actually lifts 
Anne from the saddle with a pleased smile, and as her 
ladyship bows low and comes towards Anne, the King asks 
her who the lady is. 

“Lady Boleyn, your Highness.” 

“Then I have not had the pleasure of meeting your 
ladyship before. Sir Thomas is tardy in introducing you 
at court. But you have a lovely ward here in this dainty 
maid,” he says to her ladyship. 

“We are flattered at your Majesty’s notice,” the dame 
says gratefully, bowing low to the royal Henry, and is about 
to move away from the royal presence, when his Majesty 
says : 

“We have well met, Lady Boleyn, and I have a word for 
your private ear, if you are not in a hurry.” 

“Sire, I am at your royal command,” and flattered at the 
kingly notice, beyond her most ardent dreams, she walks 
away a few steps with his Majesty, elated at the thought 
that many are enviously watching them. 

“I hear your step-ward is to be betrothed ?” 

“Sir Thomas, I believe, is entertaining such views, your 
Majesty, but not with my favor.” 

“You are wiser than your husband. Has Sir Piers But- 
ler had any promises made to him about the matter ?” 

“Not to my knowledge, Sire.” 

“Then tell Sir Thomas there are other ways for her to 
become a Countess than tying her to that grey-beard, for 
she would sicken at his ancient endearments, or I am much 
mistaken.” 

“I will be sure and do your Highness’ bidding.” 


54 


By the King’s Command. 

“And I have other plans for Mistress Boleyn, for there 
are those at our court who are interested in her bright eyes, 
and our Chancellor will talk to you about it later,” the 
King says with a meaning, as he moves away with the 
Duke of Suffolk, his unscrupulous brother-in-law. 

The Cardinal has watched his Majesty talking with Lady 
Boleyn, and seen his marked attention to Anne, and deter- 
mines to know if possible what he has been saying to her 
ladyship. 

As she passes into the palace he sends Stephen Gardiner, 
one of his secretaries, to invite her to his room. 

“So soon !” her ladyship mutters audibly. And fairly 
intoxicated at this second high distinction of an interview 
with the King and now with the man in the realm second 
to the King, takes her way to the Cardinal’s apartments in 
a bewildering maze of thoughts. 

His Eminence sits and pours a searching glance at her 
ladyship, seeking to penetrate her very soul, w T hen he pres- 
ently says slowly: 

“Lady Boleyn, his Majesty was talking to you about your 
step-ward, Mistress Anne Boleyn ?” 

“Yes, your Eminence !” And as the Cardinal waits, and 
only looks keenly at her, she is about to proceed and tell 
him all, when he says, “His Majesty discouraged an alliance 
with Sir Piers Butler?” 

Thinking the powerful Chancellor knows fully the 
King’s mind, and has been told to converse with her about 
the matter, she tells him all the King has said to her. 

Gloomily he soliloquizes for a while, and walks up and 
down in moody thought, giving Lady Boleyn time to reflect 
that her good star is now rising, and that interviews with 
the King and the Lord High Chancellor of England can 
only result in good for herself. 

“Fool ! fool !” the Cardinal mutters. Then facing the 
dame, he says, “Is not Mistress Anne already betrothed?” 

“No, your Grace.” 

“Yes, she is ! And to my ward, Lord Henry Percy of 
Northumberland, heir of the most powerful noble we have 
on our northern borders.” 

“Her father and I knew it not !” 

“Since yesterday it happened! They both are wilful, 


Mystifications. 55 

and take matters in their own hands, which some day may 
bring them sorrow. But Percy will tell you all about 
it. And I would have you and Sir Thomas encourage this 
betrothment, for it will be for your interest to do so !” the 
Cardinal says with meaning. 

“But Lord Percy is already betrothed to the Lady Mary 
Talbot !” 

“He is my ward ! That betrothment will not stand ! I 
regulate these matters, as I regulate many another/’ he 
says significantly. 

With a low bow her ladyship is departing when the 
Cardinal says: 

“Sir Thomas is interested in the earldom of Wiltshire, is 
he not ?” 

“Yes, your Eminence !” 

“Ah ! that is in my hands for settlement,” he says as her 
ladyship walks away. And then he mutters, “What devil’s 
scheme has Henry on foot now ?” 

Her ladyship’s head is almost turned with this stirring 
introduction to court life, and she cannot get fast enough 
to Sir Thomas’s apartments to acquaint him with the news, 
and best of all to her, her recognition by the King. 

Meanwhile Percy, in moody thought, after his interview 
with Anne, says to me: 

“Thomas, think you it is too late for me to go and see 
Sir Thomas Boleyn?” 

“No 5 I should go and declare myself.” 

“I will do so.” 

Hastily passing to Sir Thomas’s apartments, he finds 
him and Lady Boleyn with Sir Piers Butler and Mistress 
Anne together. 

Looking from one to the other, he sees disappointment on 
Sir Piers’s face and a fixed resolution on Anne’s. 

Sir Piers, on seeing Percy, says, “I have been forestalled, 
methinks, my lord, on subject matter dear to a manly 
heart, and I bow with my refusal to glorious youth ! May 
your joy be great, and count on Piers Butler always as a 
good friend to the most valiant among men, and the 
sweetest among maidens,” and he passes out. 

Inclining to Sir Piers, Percy feels he has been somewhat 
tardy in declaring his love, which brings flames of red to 


56 


By the King’s Command. 

his cheeks, as he goes to Sir Thomas and says, “I have 
come, Sir Thomas, to ask for your consent to your daugh- 
ter’s and my betrothment, and to declare my love for the 
most beautiful maiden I have ever known,” and he knightly 
kneels at Anne’s feet and kisses her hand. 

“You are slow, my lord, in your declaration to me; 
slower than you were to my daughter, as the young lady 
has had to tell us first herself.” 

“Then I am ashamed, indeed, and your rebuke, though 
just, is hard, hut this is my first opportunity.” 

“You found time for courting, my lord, for I know 
Anne would not throw herself at the first youngster who 
nods at her.” 

“Well taken. Sir Thomas, and your words cut deep, 
deeper than your sword could pain me, and my blood waxes 
warm as I am unable to gainsay you, but ” 

“It is all well, my lord, for his Majesty hath hinted his 
satisfaction to Lady Boleyn, and his Eminence the Car- 
dinal hath sent me a message about you. And my fiittle 
Anne’ hath just now refused a suing lover because of being 
betrothed, and I believe she means you, and I am not 
averse to it, seeing Anne is pleased. But you must treat 
her as the apple of your eye, as she is all the world to me.” 

“May the heavenly Jesu count me forsworn if I ever 
desert her,” Percy says solemnly, while all the time his 
brain is running on what Sir Thomas has said. 

The KING! The Cardinal! The latter he under- 
stands, but the KING! What can the King know or have 
to do with his love affairs ! It surely is a mistake ! He 
is glad to have a little while alone with his beloved Anne. 

“How you have no cause for jealousy. You see, his 
Majesty is interested in our betrothment!” she whispers 
gaily. 

“I do not understand !” 

“But he told Lady Boleyn so.” 

“Did the King mention my name to her?” 

“No ! But he said he wished me not to be betrothed to 
Sir Piers, as he had some one at court in view for me, and 
that the Cardinal would speak to Lady Boleyn about it. 
And shortly afterwards his Eminence spoke to her lady- 
ship for you.” 


Mystifications. 57 

“I cannot understand it." 

“But I am so happy !" 

“Are yon ? Then so am I !" 

“Then don't look so thoughtful, but look pleased !" and 
Percy lays her head against his heart and presses it there. 

Presently he says : “That ‘some one' at court he alluded 
to is himself. The King is infatuated with you, love !" 
“With me, Percy? You terrify me!" 

“Yes, with you !" 

“Why?" 

“Because you are so beautiful !" 

“Oh ! then I am afraid of him !" she says, alarmed. 
“That miakes me happy !" 


58 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE TOURNAMENT. 

To-day we go to the tournament. The royal Henry, 
like King Richard of the Lion Heart, loves the tilt-yard 
and joust. 

All is animation and gaiety. Crowds of people are 
everywhere, for on bright June days in Merrie England 
when a tournament is to be seen, there is no lack of at- 
tendance. 

His Eminence has sent out lavish invitations for it, and 
if the nobles and the people won’t supply the King’ s treas- 
ury for him to engage in expensive wars, the King shall 
not say he is penurious in entertaining them. 

All is astir this memorable morning, and Percy and I 
have scant time for confidences. 

“I am aching to tilt with his Majesty. Do you think he 
will take a turn in the lists ?” Percy says to me as we are 
about to start out. 

“The royal shield is not displayed with the others in 
front of the royal dais. One can never tell what the King 
will do, though.” 

“I wish he would give me a chance at him. I hate him, 
and would love to unseat him,” Percy says strongly. 

“He is crafty and revengeful, Percy. He brooks little 
opposition, and you had better be careful,” I say, knowing 
the King only too well. 

“I care not, and he may look to it an he give me the 
chance. A man’s love is not to he trifled with even though 
he be the King,” Percy says fiercely. 

“Be careful, brother mine. If you were heard you surely 


The Tournament. 


59 


would be undone/* I say, checking him in his fierce anger. 

“I am in no mood for care. But whose shields are dis- 
played?** Percy says eagerly. 

“The King*s brother-in-law of Suffolk’s, his Grace of 
Norfolk’s, my Lord Surrey’s, Dacre’s, Southampton’s, Du- 
Belay*s and many others with your own.** 

“Listen ! We are called to our places, for the procession 
is forming,** Percy says, as we move out to the entry. 

The sun dial shadows nine, as with a flare of trumpets 
the royal cavalcade sets forth to the lists. The King is 
attired in crimson velvet, his trunk hose slashed with pink 
embossed silk, his cloak is trimmed with royal sable. An 
ostrich plume is fastened in his cap with a flashing dia- 
mond brooch, and a jewelled collar of gold is about his 
neck. 

Queen Katherine rides at the side of the King. She is 
dressed in dark purple velvet, fur tipped; her hood is 
veiled with precious lace, that falls to her waist, around 
which is a jewelled girdle ending with a golden cross . 

His Eminence rides to the left of the Queen, and is 
habited all in red. A collar of rich lace falls about his 
neck, and is fastened to his undertunic of finest linen that 
softens the rigor of his face. He is all anxiety that every- 
thing shall go off to please the mighty Henry, for he has 
keenly noticed the expressions that his Highness has con- 
stantly dropped since he has been here. 

But all is gaiety, and “Hurrahs** break forth for both 
King and Cardinal that causes the King to fling handfuls 
of silver pieces among his merrie subjects, and enjoy seeing 
them scramble and pummel each other for their possession. 

At the lists many of the nobles and knights leave the 
train of their Majesties, and retire to don their armor, and 
Percy among them. 

Anne Boleyn is all thought and alertness. She keeps 
well in the rear of her Majesty, and takes her seat as far 
back as she can, to be out of sight of the King. She does 
not succeed though, for he singles her out and gives her a 
smile that is very cordial, coming from a monarch to a 
waiting woman of his Queen. 

The Queen notices it though, and so does the Cardinal, 
but the Queen is used to the King’s oddities, or at least 


60 


By the King’s Command. 

she has to be, and affects to take no notice, though her 
heart is pained with his growing infidelities to herself; 
but she bears it with the stolidity that a loving wife’s heart 
is often called to bear things, and suffers silently. 

The Cardinal notices and thinks. Thinks how fickle his 
master is becoming, and foresees trouble ahead, deep 
trouble, as he understands the kingly nature so well. He 
also thinks how perilous it is growing to be, to steer the 
kingly barque along, while there is such a readiness always 
to create a storm at court, for there are always those who 
enjoy a wreck, if they can profit by it. 

But here are the heralds and trumpeters pacing into the 
lists, and a great silence comes over all, as with a flourish 
they wheel into line, in front of the displayed shields, and 
call: 

“By the favor of his Eminence, my Lord Cardinal Wol- 
sey, and in honor of their royal Majesties, our great and 
mighty lord, the noble King Henry of Great Britain and 
France, and her most excellent Majesty Queen Katherine. 
The sports for the day will be as follows : 

“I. A Melee . Their Graces, the Dukes of Norfolk 
and Suffolk to lead the opposing sides. From this contest 
three of each side are to be named by his Majesty to further 
contest. 

“II. The six so named to continue the combat. From 
this contest one of each side is to be named by his Majesty 
to further contest. 

“III. The two so named to decide the combat. 

“IV. An open challenge from a single combatant. 

“V. A display of wrestling. 

“VI. An archery contest. Three to be named by his 
Majesty to further contest. 

“VII. A deer drive. The three named competing. 
The animal’s eye to be the mark.” 

A deafening cheer goes up at the announcement of such 
a brave list of sports. But another flourish of trumpets 
calls for silence, when the royal herald announces the 
prizes : 

“The prizes for the victors, by favor of his Eminence 
the Cardinal, and given by the hand of her most gracious 
Majesty the Queen, will be as follows- 


The Tournament. 61 

“I. A charger, fully caparisoned. A suit of plate 
armor with damascened sword, inlaid with gold. 

"II. To the successful champion, a suit of chain mail 
of finest Damascus steel, with sword inlaid with gold. 

"III. A champion’s belt inlaid with gold, and buckle of 
gold with the Cardinal’s monogram. 

“IV. A gold and jewelled arrow brooch for the victor's 
cap.” 

A mighty shout goes up at this display of generosity on 
the part of the Cardinal, as the prizes are really princely, 
and will call forth the very best from the contestants, be- 
side the honor attached thereto at gaining them under the 
eyes of the King; and a greater honor still, for will not 
all these fair dames and damsels be looking on ? And will 
not bright eyes be longing and loving hearts be pulsating, 
and Cupid lips be cheering and tiny hands be clapping ? 

And then the archery contest ! It will require infinite 
skill, I can tell you. The King has lately had several acts 
passed making it obligatory that butts shall be erected and 
maintained in every town for the practice of the long bow. 
Guardians and employers of youth are ordered to bring 
up all boys to the practice of archery, the neglect of which 
is to be punished by fine. 

England’s archers are her strength, for did not King 
Eichard with only seventeen knights and three hundred 
archers sustain the whole shock of the Saracen army and 
defeat them ? And then think of Cressy, and Poictiers, and 
recently Flodden in our own day. It is a fine list of sports, 
and his Eminence could not win his way to the popular 
heart more quickly than this way. 

The trumpeters and heralds pace out of the lists and 
there is an animated buzz and confusion of tongues, as 
everybody is discussing with his neighbor some points 
relative to the sports and the contestants. 

Another flourish of trumpets announces the four Mar- 
shals of the Field, who, fully armed and accoutred, ride in 
from opposite ends, passing the full length of the lists, and 
taking their places at the extreme four corners. Another 
flourish, and from right and left come sixteen armed cham- 
pions, who ride their magnificent chargers the full length 
of the lists. They are led by the Dukes of Norfolk and 


62 


By the King’s Command. 

Suffolk, and ride so stolidly that horses and champions 
look like as if they are one, so perfectly do they come. 

Meeting in the centre, they wheel into line, and salute 
with their lances ; then they turn and move off to the end of 
the lists, where they again wheel into line, each opposite 
his opponent as follows: 

Eight . 

Duke of Norfolk, 

Sir Thomas Boleyn, 

Lord Dacre, 

Earl Snrrey, 

George Boleyn, 

William Brereton, 

Sir Francis Weston, 

Lord Henry Percy. 


Left. 

Duke of Suffolk, 

M. Du-Belay, 

Earl Southampton, 
Sir Piers Butler, 
Anthony Brown, 

Lord Henry Stafford, 
Sir Harry Guilford, 
Marquis of Dorset. 


They are a brave set of knight champions, and the vast 
audience is roused to a great pitch of excitement, as they 
see the contestants prepare themselves in the saddle for 
that exact poise that shall give them their hoped for skill 
in gaining the victory. 

At a signal from his Majesty, they hurl themselves at 
each other as they give their battle cry of “A Norfolk” or 
“A Suffolk.” And the whole vast throng take up the cry, 
as each one takes sides, and there is a mighty confused roar 
of “A Norfolk” and “A Suffolk.” 

Percy has donned his armor with a sore heart. He has a 
grand mount, but has reserved his favorite horse, “Hector,” 
against he has opportunity to meet the King. He enters 
the contest with a prayer, “God strengthen my arm and 
only give me an opportunity to meet him !” His antag- 
onist is the Marquis of Dorset, who failed in leadership at 
Guienne thirteen years ago, but who likes to be thought 
skilful. 

With a ringing cry of “A Norfolk! A Norfolk!” Percy 
hears down on him. He levels his lance directly at his 
breast, then at the last moment lifts it to take his vizor, and 
fairly hurls him from the saddle. 

This is a feat that is one of the hardest, and being ac- 
complished, draws yells of delight from the audience, in 


The Tournament. 


63 


which Anne Boleyn and I join most heartily, I can tell yon. 

“Was not that splendid? He is just built for a cham- 
pion,” I cannot help but say in my pride at him. 

“It was grand,” she says, with reddening cheeks, and I 
can see the pride she has in him; and with all my jeal- 
ousy of her, I should be more so if she did not love him, 
for he is so worthy. 

As Percy comes opposite us, he sees Anne through his 
vizor leaning eagerly forward, waving her kerchief at him, 
and he bows to her till his plumes sweep his horse’s mane, 
and he lowers his lance to our acknowledgment. 

This does not escape the eye of the King, for he turns 
quickly and looks up at Anne, and to her confusion, he in- 
clines his head to her, drawing the eyes of the curious im- 
mediately on her. 

Riding to the end of the lists, Percy finds that the Nor- 
folk side is quite badly broken, for George Boleyn, Lord 
Dacre and Sir Francis Weston are unhorsed, Sir Thomas 
Boleyn holds a broken lance in his hand, and is riding to 
the Marshal for another, having unhorsed M. Du-Belay, 
the French Ambassador, whose saddle girths broke under 
the shock of Sir Thomas, and he is ruled out from further 
contesting. 

This leaves six to oppose five, and Percy notices that 
Lord Stafford and Sir Harry Guilford pair themselves to 
'.oppose him. 

“Two to one, Sire, is a little uneven,” the Duchess of 
Suffolk remarks to the King, as she points to the two oppos- 
ing Percy. 

“It will take the conceit out of him when he gets a 
tumble,” his Majesty replies grimly. 

The two have agreed to follow each other quickly, so that 
the one failing, the one following will be sure to vanquish 
him. 

Percy notices Lord Stafford lead out, and surmising 
what they intend doing, charges directly at my lord, 
yelling, “A Norfolk ! A Norfolk !” and at the last moment 
he swerves his horse to one side, and just passes his lord- 
ship, who does not touch him; and then bearing down 
upon Sir Harry, he takes him squarely on the breast with 


64 


By the King’s Command. 

such force as to hurl him from the saddle, and he comes to 
the ground with a broken shoulder. 

Angered and chagrined, Lord Stafford returns upon 
Percy fiercely, and shivers his lance against his breast- 
plate, while Percy unseats him with a true lance, and rides 
to the centre of the lists with it raised, then lowers it to the 
ground in honor of his lady love, amid the shouts and 
wild enthusiasm of the populace. Thus ends the melee, 
and it is for the King to decide who is to be promoted to 
further contest. 

Waving their batons, the Marshals of the Field come 
riding in, and the trumpets call for silence, when it is 
announced : 

“For his Grace of Norfolk, Sir Thomas Boleyn, Earl 
Surrey and Lord Henry Percy. For his Grace of Suffolk, 
Earl Southampton, Master Anthony Brown and the Duke 
of Suffolk, each to contest in the order named/’ 

“He who wins to the next place, Lord Percy, will do so 
with hard work. I see they have given you "the Duke to 
tilt with,” Sir Thomas Boleyn says. 

At a sign from his Majesty, the Duke of Suffolk rides 
up to the royal dais, when his Majesty says to him, “You 
will do me a favor by laying that cockerell in the dust.” 

“I will try, Sire.” 

With a confidence that the Duke of Suffolk is noted for, 
he being one of the most brilliant champions in the lists, 
he rides to meet Percy. But I see him settle himself well 
in the saddle, adjusting his weight so as to give strength 
and power to his lance to meet his heavier adversary, and 
at the shock each shivers his lance to pieces. 

Hot noticing the others, the King says, petulantly, 
“What is my lord of Suffolk about ?” 

“I think, Sire, he has met a fair match for his lance,” 
Sir Thomas More replies. 

“Then he shall try it again,” the King says decidedly. 

Again the Marshals enter, and call, “His Grace the 
Duke of Suffolk and Lord Henry Percy of Northumber- 
land will decide the combat.” 

Wishing to give him a word, I excuse myself to Mistress 
Boleyn, and hurry to where the Cardinal’s grooms have 
“Hector,” and I see that he is ready for Percy. He soon 


The Tournament. 65 

comes, and has- only time to have his helmet removed and 
drink a cup of wine, when his name is called. 

“Here, Percy, I have had ‘ Hector' prepared. Use all 
your skill, for the King whispered the Duke to be sure and 
unseat you.” 

“Thank you, Thomas. That makes me strong. I shall 
feel I am tilting with the King.” 

“Do so,” I say heartily, and I hand him a lance. 

“It needs to be more hefty, Thomas,” he says, and I 
hand him another. 

“That is the one. And good luck go with me. This is 
for my lady love,” he says as he caracoles away, and I 
hurry back to Anne to see the outcome of this encounter. 

As the Duke faces him, Percy whispers to his horse, 
“ ‘Hector/ fail me not now,” and the horse responds to his 
master’s voice, as if he knew what he said to him. 

“Hector” is a coal black animal, who was born for the 
tilt-yard; for with all his accoutrements and those of his 
heavily mailed rider, he acts perfectly free in his move- 
ments. Standing upon his hind legs, he walks with hoofs 
pawing the air, waiting the signal of his Majesty; and at 
a word of command from his master, he hurls himself 
straight forward at the Duke’s horse as if they must meet 
and batter out each other’s brains. Then, at a given press- 
ure from his master’s knee at the last moment, swerving 
aside sufficiently for Percy to take the centre of the Duke’s 
cuirass, when the shock is so great that no man can stand it, 
and the Duke is hurled to the ground, and pulls his horse 
down with him, so mighty is his grip upon the bridle rein. 

The acclamation of the multitude is deafening, as 
Percy checks “Hector” in his gallop. At a word of com- 
mand he rises, hoofs in air, and turning, walks, caracoles 
and paws the air, this way and that, until they come to the 
royal dais, when he lowers his lance to the ground. Mov- 
ing to opposite where we are, he checks his horse again, and 
lowers his lance to Anne, and then paces out of the lists. 

The King feels angry at the Duke, and more so at 
Percy; but does not show it. 

“Your ward is a good rider, and his mount a king among 
horses,” he says to the Cardinal. 

“But for his horse, Sire, he would never have unseated so 


66 


By the King’s Command. 

skilful a champion as the Duke of Suffolk/* the Cardinal 
says diplomatically, as the Duchess is close by. 

“I will try a lance with him/* the King says with stolid 
face. 

Rising, he passes slowly out, taking his way so as to pass 
Anne and me. As he passes her he says, whisperingly, with 
bold effrontery, “I tilt for thee.** 

“Then may you be vanquished/* my heart says, but I 
say nothing to Anne, as she is confused with the King’s 
boldness. 

Every knight capable of being in the saddle, puts himself 
in readiness, against the King touches his shield with his 
mailed hand, and the Marshals watch closely, to call for 
the champion to oppose his Majesty. 

The King touches the shield of Master Anthony Brown, 
his Master of Horse, and Master Brown watches for the 
signal from the Cardinal and gallops to meet the defeat 
that all expect, and he receives, by being hurled from the 
saddle with fearful violence, and lies there stunned for 
a while, from the fierce shock of the mighty Henry. 

A roar of applause greets the kingly ear, for with his 
mighty strength he is the people’s idol, and he rides for- 
ward and hits his brother-in-law’s shield with his mailed 
hand. 

The Duke faces the King, and two knight champions 
never faced each other more evenly matched for strength 
and courage. The Duke rides so as to gain in speed at the 
encounter, and his lance meets the King squarely on his 
breast, but his Grace is unseated, although he makes the 
King reel in his saddle, and all can see that his colossal 
strength has prevailed, and not superior skill. 

The people climb the benches and shout themselves 
hoarse at this display of the mighty strength of their 
monarch, and when he leaves the field for a cup of wine, 
they shout after him, “A Percy ! A Percy !” 

Re-entering on a fresh charger, he taps the shield of 
Percy, and as he passes Anne, he inclines to her with droop*- 
ing lance. Then he backs his horse to the end of the lists 
to the plaudits of the multitude, as he shows his horse- 
manship. 

Percy has watched him closely. Saw him bow to Anne, 


The Tournament. 67 

and interpreted his meaning, for when did love fail at such 
times ? 

And so, at the signal, Percy rides forward, as he yells, 
“My lady love!” as he gives the King his defiance. A 
mighty exhilaration possesses him as he spurs “Hector” on 
“head to head” with the King’s horse, that baffles his 
Majesty’s aim. Then, with remarkable dexterity, at the 
last moment, he takes the kingly casque, which under so 
rude a shock is torn from its fastenings and rolls spinning 
on the ground, giving the day to Percy, who rides round 
the lists amid storms of the wildest applause. 

Coming to Anne, he salutes her, lowering his lance and 
bowing low ; and she is pleased, I can see, and I am, too, at 
my noble friend. Ah ! the very best a man could have ! 

His Majesty retires in not a very pleasant humor, we 
all can see, and the Cardinal mutters, “Fool! madness! 
utter madness to anger him !” and rising, it is a signal for 
all that luncheon is to be served. 


68 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE TOURNAMENT — CONTINUED. 

The Royal Pavilion is filled with brilliant life and is 
a palace of splendor, suited to such an occasion as the enter- 
taining of their royal Majesties. Cardinal Wolsey is 
a master of the arts, and foremost among men in creating 
magnificent displays. Six years ago he was chosen repre- 
sentative of both King Francis and King Henry to ar- 
range for “The Field of the Cloth of Gold” as it was called, 
and the lavishness of that display is still talked of. 

The pavilion is a large wood and canvas structure, sup- 
ported by three great columns, draped with the royal colors, 
above which floats the royal standard. Streamers of red, 
white, and blue, float from the centre to the sides, while the 
sides are hung with costly tapestries. Lordly escutcheons 
are hung about, with warriors’ trophies from the battle- 
field and relics of the hunt. 

At the upper end, on a raised platform, an imposing 
dais has been erected for their Majesties; and here th£ 
royal table awaits them with its service of solid gold. 
Other tables are near, for royal and other guests, the 
Cardinal leaving a vacant place or two near the King’s 
table for any particular guest he may honor with an in- 
vitation. 

Two large tables run the full length of the pavilion, 
while the large space in the centre is given over to the 
gorgeous retinue of chamberlains and servants, in the 
Cardinal’s and the royal liveries, who flit hither and 
thither, making everything conserve to the comfort of the 
guests. 

The King’s and Cardinal’s musicianers discourse sweet 


The Tournament. 


69 


music under a large spreading elm that can also be heard 
by the other numerous guests that are served in two other 
large pavilions close by. 

It is a grand sight, as the cavalcade, led by royalty, 
comes to refreshments, for it is a scene of brilliant color- 
ing, most pleasing to the eye. 

With a lordly stride, his Majesty, hiding all traces of his 
defeat in the lists, and with an expression of captivating 
pleasure on his face, comes leading the procession with the 
Duchess of Suffolk, followed by the Cardinal with her Maj- 
esty, and then the great train of guests. 

Between a row of halberdiers they enter and go to the 
royal table, when the King, turning to the Duke of Nor- 
folk, says, “We would have your niece near us, as she 
amuseth us with her wit.” 

The court dignitaries exchange glances at this caprice of 
their monarch, seeing in Anne a new favorite ; and as she 
comes forward, bowing at the honor, she looks beautiful 
and a star among them. 

The Queen shows no sign, other than a recognition of 
pleasure towards Anne, though she is alive to the ca- 
prices of her lord, whom she idolizes. 

“Mistress Anne, you seemed a while since to triumph in 
our defeat, an my eyes deceived me not, for I saw you ap- 
plauding when I made my obeisance to my subjects,” the 
King says pointedly. 

Confused for a moment to know how to reply, Anne 
says, “Your Majesty’s subjects should gladly applaud 
when your Highness, to please them, bows so low.” 

“She is certainly tactful,” the Cardinal thinks. 

“It reminded me, Uncle, of one of Doctor Butts’s colicky 
patients taking his boluses as a matter of necessity, and 
your bowings looked as if done with as ill a grace,” the 
King’s jester says, laughing. 

“That is truth in a nutshell, fool, and take care that that 
nut of thine is not cracked,” the King replies, as he thinks 
of his defeat. 

“Well, Uncle, that would do you no good, for you might 
have double loss. An you crack the nut and not eat the 
meat, you would lose your fool ! An you crack it and eat 
it, you would turn fool yourself ; and methinks it would be 


70 


By the King’s Command. 

an ill fit to squeeze thy body into my doublet,” he says at 
a safe distance from his master’s hand. 

All traces of his discomfiture of the morning pass away 
as he partakes of the Cardinal’s bounty, for his Eminence 
has had the King’s favorite dishes of partridge meats 
served in various forms to tickle the royal palate, and the 
King loves good cheer, as he is a hearty eater. 

At the end of the refreshments he rises, goblet in hand, 
filled with wine to the brim, and pledges: “To those to 
whom men will devote all, sacrifice all, yield all !” 

All the guests rise to their feet on the instant, and they 
drink to the Queen, though he names her not, but “looks 
directly at Anne,” to her painful confusion, for she drops 
her eyes and dare not raise them again, as she feels her 
Majesty must be looking at her. 

“To the sports, gentlemen ! We have been here too 
long, and by the shouts of the people something is amusing 
them,” the King says, passing round to where Anne has 
arisen, and says: “Come, pretty one, let us lead these 
tardy folk to the attractions of the day; but in sooth thy- 
self art to me a more dainty attraction than the lists and 
butts.” 

Anne feels like sinking in the earth at hearing these 
bold words, but she answers him: “Sire, it becomes you 
not to speak to me this way.” 

‘ r Why not, if I deem you worthy ? Am I not allowed to 
speak truth ?” 

“Yes, Sire, if you say it in the presence of her Maj- 
esty.” 

“1 will, next time, if that will please you, but be not 
over prudish, for I like to be candid to those I favor. 
But what have we here ?” he says as they come to the lists, 
for an amusing thing is occurring. 

Two diminutive champions are facing each other in the 
lists. By a deal of coaxing on the part of Will Somers, 
Percy has allowed him to mount “Hector” to do battle with 
Sir Wittyfpate, the Cardinal’s jester. 

Will Somers has been boasting of his prowess in the 
saddle and there being no horse that he cannot manage. 
He certainly is quite dexterous, and altogether a crafty 
and tough opponent for Sir Wittypate to face. 


The Tournament. 


71 


They certainly look droll, as each endeavors to ape the 
airs of a warrior, as they face each other with short lances 
and wooden swords. 

As “Hector” prances and caracoles and rears and paws 
the air, Will Somers sits him well, though it keeps him 
busy doing so. 

As the King comes to his place, the two dwarfs look to 
him for the signal, when with a shout from the multitude 
they charge at each other. 

The King’s fool is gloating over his superiority, and his 
certainty of vanquishing Sir Wittypate, when a peculiar 
shrill whistle reaches the ear of “Hector.” Knowing it to 
be his master’s signal, he swerves immediately, and gallops 
towards Percy, as he has been taught to do. 

Sir Wittypate cannot understand the action of the 
King’s fool, other than that he is afraid to meet him, which 
raises his courage to a scornful pitch, and spurring his 
horse, follows hard after and prods Will Somers behind 
with his lance. 

It is ludicrous to see the rage of the King’s jester. 
With loud maledictions and with all his might he tries to 
stop “Hector,” and at the same time to keep himself from 
being prodded behind. He shakes his lance, then throws 
it away, to stop the (to him) insane beast from running 
away. He draws his sword, shakes it at Sir Wittypate, 
then beats “Hector” over the head with it, which the horse 
does not understand, and only makes him go faster, while 
Sir Wittypate keeps up well in his rear and calls him 
“Coward !” and prods him again. 

“Hector” has only one idea, that is to obey the call of his 
master, for he has been trained to seek him out on hearing 
his call. The knights on their horses are laughing hilari- 
ously, and the great audience are screaming themselves 
hoarse at the funny sight, when Percy, as if afraid of the 
enraged dwarf bearing down on him with wooden sword, 
starts his horse at a gallop to the other end of the arena, 
giving that shrill whistle as he passes “Hector,” who im- 
mediately turns and follows him. It looks now as if the 
people’s champion is afraid of the King’s fool, and the 
people go wild with merriment. Sir Wittypate follows 
hard after Will and pokes him with his lance, until he 


72 


By the King’s Command. 

cannot bear it any longer. He throws himself from his 
horse to the ground and rolls over and over, breaking his 
wooden sword; then gathering himself np he runs after 
Sir Wittypate afoot, shaking his broken sword, then 
stamps the ground in his rage and flings the broken hilt 
after the retreating horse, the most venomous and enraged 
little piece of humanity it is possible to conceive, 

“I would carve that ape to goose livers !” 

“Oh ! that fool horse !** 

“I will be avenged, so help my grandmother!** 

“I will live to injure you, you forsworn upstart!** and 
sputtering out his malice, he creeps out of the arena, a 
crestfallen dwarf. 

“To horse, gentlemen, and let us to the butts. Your 
Eminence’s jester is champion of the day, and none of us 
would like to try issues with so formidable an antagonist,** 
the King says. 

Anne has quietly slipped away, and Percy has joined her, 
and they take their way to the butts at a discreet distance 
from the King. 

The butts are erected in one of the cross avenues of the 
Diana fountain, that with all its loveliness of gold and 
white, flashes and sparkles in the gorgeous sunlight, 
making a distant background of splendor, as seen through 
the shade of the over arching trees. 

The yeomen of the guard are formed in Y-shaped lines 
out to the open glade where the butts are built, keeping 
the range clear to the various targets. 

Here are gathered foresters from the royal palace at 
Sheen, Hampshire men from the Hew Forest, archers from 
Kent and from Wales, who have come in the train of the 
Princess Mary ; noblemen’s archers from the various coun- 
ties, and the Cardinal’s men, with Giles, his head keeper. 

His Majesty looks with pride on about fifty competi- 
tors, the very pick of accuracy in marksmanship, that are 
ready to compete. 

Targets of straw basses, four feet in diameter, with 
painted canvas sewn on them of five circles, the outer 
white, then black, blue, red and the inner gold, are set up 
as the first mark. Eighteen score yards is the distance, to 
be increased to twenty score yards. 


The Tournament. 


73 


“By my halidom, Cardinal, I am proud of these men. 
It makes me think of the wisdom of my father (God rest 
his soul) in organizing and encouraging such a body. Thy 
man Giles should be a yeoman, and not a forester,” the 
King says, as Giles is the last to shoot, and every one of 
them gets “within the gold.” 

At twenty score yards nineteen enter the gold, twenty the 
red ; the rest ranging in the blue and black, “but not one in 
the white.” 

The King admiringly walks among the men, and taking 
Giles’s yew bow from him selects an arrow with care, and 
stretching it easily with his massive strength, sends it just 
within the gold, to the admiration of all about him. 

“That should have hit the centre,” he says with some 
pride. 

The next that are set up are live geese, so arranged that 
their heads are only exposed, and the distance is one hun- 
dred yards. 

Davey, one of the Princess Mary’s Welsh bowmen, re- 
marks, “That’s a mighty dom’d small goslin’s head.” 

“Stand to your bow, man, and polish your eyesight,” 
Giles remarks. 

“It’s shooting at guess-work, for I might be shooting at 
a fairy’s wing, for all I can see,” Davey remarks, but he 
kills the goose. 

Live wood-pigeons, with a range of one hundred and fifty 
feet, are tossed up, six to a man, and Giles, with five bow- 
men, stands to further contest. 

Stuffed dummies, mail clad, fastened on horses, are sent 
galloping across, and points are made by the arrows strik- 
ing vulnerable places and staying there. 

“Will you not try a bow with me?” the King says to the 
Marquis of Dorset. 

Stripping off doublet and coat to his silken hose, the 
King stands before them a very Apollo, as he says to Giles : 

“This will seem like killing deer to you.” 

“Yes, Sire, an I forget not I am to shoot at dummy in- 
stead of horse ; but if you will let me shoot at horse instead 
of iron pot on straw figure, I may stand with your Maj- 
esty.” 

“Well, Giles, if you fail, you shall shoot again; and if 


74 


By the King’s Command. 

you succeed, you shall be a captain in our body-guard, 
with the Cardinal’s permission” 

“Sire, let me beg off becoming a yeoman, with a trial of 
my skill as a woodsman, for I was born in the woods, and I 
love them; though I would lay down my life for your 
Majesty,” Giles replies, not wishing to enter the King’s 
service. 

“Very well, then,” the King says with pique ; and turn- 
ing to the Cardinal, he says, “My lord Cardinal, all you 
have about you seems to be after the extraordinary.” 

The King is somewhat mollified, though, at finding one 
of his own arrows sticking in a helmet, while two of Giles’s 
have pierced the dummies’ armor. 

The deer-drive coming next, the King in looking round, 
sees Percy standing near with Anne. Walking over to 
them, he says to Percy : 

“Our champion of the lists has been hiding himself, 
and perhaps you are afraid to draw a bow with me?” 

Percy is a pupil of Giles, and a rare shot, and so he 
answers : 

“Fear does not hinder me, Sire. Your Majesty has but 
now challenged me.” 

As if to get nearer to see what is doing, the Cardinal 
comes behind Percy, and whispers, “Be sure and fail , and 
don’t outshoot him.” 

Stripped to the waist, the King and Percy stand side 
by side, the other contestants standing with them. 

A herd of fallow deer are driven, one at a time, across 
the open space, so that it means quickness and alertness to 
take the eye of the animal, as it plunges in terror past the 
fatal spot. As the contestant hit, name and number is 
called. 

“King Henry, one !” shouts the teller, as the first deer 
falls under his arrow, and the King looks pleased, as he 
stands before his people, the personification of leadership. 

Shouts and plaudits go up as Giles gains in the contest, 
not missing one ; while the King looks grave as Percy ties 
him exactly, both in missing and hitting. When the King 
hits, Percy hits; and missing, he misses; until it dawns 
upon his Majesty and the spectators that he is showing 
them only another form of superior skill, and they shout 


The Tournament. 75 

and shout again, making. Henry so angry that he flings 
down his bow in disgust. 

“You are clever, my lord, and may be conceited, but Fll 
bet you a thousand ducats that from yonder branch dan- 
gling, I will thread my arrow through that bauble, at one 
hundred feet distance ; an you do the same I will relinquish 
my right to it, and the wager against no odds,” saying 
which he takes from his doublet Anne’s ring and holds it up 
in front of Percy’s face. 

Percy at once recognizes it, and in anger replies : 

“It will be joy for me to win it. Sire,” and cannot say 
more for very madness. 

A forester soon fixes the ring dangling from a branch, 
and one hundred feet being measured off by the King, he 
turns, and with careful, deliberate aim, twangs his bow, 
and threads his arrow in the ring, amidst plaudits and 
shouts at this feat of delicate skill. 

“Beat that, if you can, my lord,” his Majesty says scorn- 
fully. 

“I expect to, Sire,” Percy replies, in the rashness of say- 
ing what he thinks first. 

The Cardinal presses forward as Percy selects a slender 
and true arrow, and as he takes careful aim and lets fly, 
the Cardinal pushes his arm, but not so much as to be seen 
doing it, and only so that Percy’s arrow pushes the King’s 
from the ring, but his own enters not, and they both fall 
down together ! 

Feeling the pressure on his arm and his true aim spoiled, 
Percy looks round in great anger ; only to meet the face of 
the Cardinal, that gives him a terrible look, as he says 
“Madman !” and walks away. 

“I won that ring and mean to keep it, my lord, and I 
brook no interference,” the King says to Percy. Then 
turning on his heel he walks away to the palace, leaving the 
Queen to distribute the prizes. 

Then the sport breaks up. 


76 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTEE XI. 

A GAME OF BOWLS. 

Percy and I are in the Cardinal’s workroom at seven the 
next morning. George Cavendish, the Cardinal’s gentle- 
man Usher; Master Stephen Gardiner, one of his Secre- 
taries; Sir Reginald, and two clerks follow in for their 
orders for the day. 

“What keeps my lord?” Sir Reginald asks. 

“I know not. I dressed him at fonr this morning, and 
he dismissed me at midnight, last night; saying he had 
more work yet to do,” Percy replies. 

“I do not know what is coming over onr Master, he looks 
so worn and filled with care ; and I think it must be what 
the Lady Willonghby-de-Eresby (Donna Elvira), the 
queen’s confidential lady, told me yesterday,” says Sir 
Reginald. 

“What did she tell thee?” I say. 

“Why, Master Wyatt, I do not think it wise to repeat it, 
but we are all true to the Cardinal ; but she says, ‘the King 
is tiring of the Queen.’ ” 

Percy and I look at each other, and the King’s manner 
lately towards Anne seems clear and plain to us. 

“In what form does it take ?” Master Gardiner asks. 

“Oh, he gets unbearable, and says his conscience trou- 
bles him at marrying his brother Arthur’s widow; and 
doubts its lawfulness, and he is punished of God in not hav- 
ing a living son.” 

Scorn and contempt sits upon Percy’s face, and I 
pluck him by the sleeve not to reply, as things said are some- 
times troublesome, when his Eminence comes in with 
“Good morrow, gentlemen !” 

“I have nothing for you, Sir Reginald; you know my 


A Game of Bowls. 77 

wishes. Things must go smoothly for his Majesty, and I 
rely on you.” 

“Master Gardiner, see that Master Packington is ar- 
rested, and haul in as many of those imported testaments 
as you can get your hands on.” 

“Percy, and you, Master Wyatt, come with me. And 
Master Cavendish, see that we are not disturbed, admitting 
none unless it be their Majesties.” 

All this is said in haste, and the Cardinal moves into his 
private room, we following, leaving Cavendish on the 
outside. 

Throwing a bolt in its fastenings, and drawing the crim- 
son curtains over the door, his Grace settles himself in a 
large chair, bids Percy draw up a footstool, and then looks 
him in the eyes for a long time. 

There is fascination, appeal, mesmeric will power in 
that look ; and we can see he is mightily disturbed. 

“Percy, there is no question but that something grave is 
happening. Have you heard anything about his Majes- 
ty’s uneasiness of manner?” 

“It seems as if he is making me the object of it,” Percy 
replies. 

“You know I have noticed that, and you have been indis- 
creet,” his Grace says, severely. 

“Yes, your Eminence,” I say, breaking in, “Donna El- 
vira was telling Sir Reginald that The King is tiring of 
the Queen.’ ” 

“Then the matter is getting known, Master Wyatt,” the 
Cardinal says concerned. 

“Yes, your Eminence, and she says he is getting rest- 
less at having no male heir to the throne.” 

“What about the young Duke of Richmond, Jane 
Blount’s boy?” Percy says. 

“Illegitimate,” his Eminence says thoughtfully. 

“How can he tire of our good Queen Katherine?” I say 
with some warmth, for we are all loyal to the Queen. 

“It is this way : Her Majesty is past giving Henry an- 
other boy, and all her sons have died in infancy, and the 
King is tiring of her.” 

“He is becoming most unknightly and very quarrelsome,” 
•Percy says. 


78 


By the King’s Command. 

“You have cause to say that, I know, and there is more : 
Percy, the King is becoming infatuated with Mistress 
Boleyn he says slowly and clearly. 

A hot iron to Percy’s cheek could not do more than for 
him to be told this. He starts up and paces the floor in 
his blazing anger, and there is murder in his heart as he is 
told this by another, even though that other be the great 
Cardinal. 

“Great heavenly Jesu! Do we have to bear this?” he 
cries. 

I touch his arm and try to call him to himself, when the 
Cardinal says : 

“Let us be rational about the matter, and no mad folly 
must cost me your head” (and I like the Cardinal for say- 
ing that) ; “but Mistress Anne must be warned and kept 
from the King as much as possible; and it will be to her 
interest to be well in love with you, my son, for I see 
trouble ahead,” the Cardinal says kindly, looking at Percy. 

“We can marry. Anne fears the King, and she truly 
loves me !” Percy says. 

“You dare not without the King’s permission. And 
had I not mtanaged your betrothment as I did, before she 
took up her duties with the Queen, she dare not have done 
so, as you know.” 

“I would defy his Majesty, and marry her,” Percy says 
hotly. 

“That would mean your life in the Tower, and you di- 
vorced against your will.” 

“Oh, God ! Then what remedy have we ?” he groans. 

“Calmness ! The King may lose his fancy. The Queen 
must regain his favor. And I have a heavy responsibility 
just now, and you must be cautious, and let no mad blood 
of yours undo us all,” his Eminence says sternly. 

“His fancy !” Percy says hotly, when the Cardinal says, 
in anger: 

“Hush !” 

George Cavendish is knocking on the door, and crying: 
“His Majesty the King!” and the Cardinal only has time 
to throw the bolt quietly, when in comes his Majesty in un- 
dress, with a silken robe thrown round his shoulders lightly, 
as he has just come from the breakfast table. 


A Game of Bowls. 


79 


His Majesty looks sternly at Percy, without acknowledg- 
ing him, then says, “Good morning,” to the Cardinal, and 
seating himself in his Grace’s chair, commences to talk, and 
we slip away. 

“Wolsey, you are giving me uncommon pleasures, but 
they don’t do away with what I was talking to you about re- 
cently,” the King says, eyeing the Cardinal keenly. 

“I am sorry, Sire,” and the Cardinal kneels in front of 
the King, seeing he is there to converse with him. 

Two of the most clever men of the times face each other. 
The King is the only man the Cardinal really fears, and 
him only because he controls the secular arm. Looking at 
him keenly the Cardinal sees the man whose whole nature is 
changing from virtue to vice, and from right doing to the 
self persuasion of an imaginary right doing. 

“Wolsey, I am come to you to help me in the matter; you 
are my counsellor, and you must help me,” the King says 
in a decisive way. 

“Sire, will you point out how I can do so ?” 

“I want a divorce,” he says hardly. 

“A divorce from the gentle Queen Katherine ? What of 
his Holiness? What will' the Emperor Charles say?” his 
Eminence says pleadingly. 

“There ! You show your weakness, my lord. Where is 
your sympathy ? You begin by questioning me. What is 
Katherine’s pain to the pain of my troubled conscience? 
What the Holy Father’s thought, and the Emperor’s criti- 
cism to my daily anguish?” the King says pettishly. 

“His Holiness will have to grant the divorce, Sire, and 
the Emperor may object.” 

“But you must manage it, Wolsey. You must have them 
see that heaven’s wrath is upon our union. Where are my 
three sons by Katherine? Dead! In the whole eighteen 
years of our married life heaven’s anger has been upon us, 
and you know it.” 

“But the Princess Mary, by law enacted, can become 
Queen of England, Sire.” 

“And hand our fair dominions over to France ! The 
Dausphin would like to obtain these fair lands that easily. 
And you recommend that ?” 

“There is his Holiness Julius II.’s special dispensation 


80 


By the King’s Command. 

to be overcome, Sire,** the Cardinal says, presenting all the 
reasonable obstacles he can think of. 

“Clement mnst set it aside. He can do it ! Yon are not 
hearty in this matter, my lord, but mark yon, I will have 
it done, and there is only yon to do it/* the King says, get- 
ting angry. 

“Be not angry with me, Sire, for my cantion. What 
wonld yon think of me, Sire, if I did not bring matters to 
yonr memory, bnt did them withont weighty thought ?** 

“Yon are right, bnt what have yon to say?** 

“This, Sire. Eighteen years have yon lived before the 
nation happily wedded. Everybody loves Queen Katherine, 
and few know yonr inner life; and yet England and the 
whole world will judge your motives. And it wonld be 
treason to try to disturb matters, which yon in yonr judg- 
ment might be gotten to see is a mistake.** 

“Any more, Wolsey?** the King says stolidly, breaking in 
on his Grace. 

“There are her Majesty*s relatives, Sire. The Queen*s 
nephew, the Emperor Charles, will have to be won over, for 
he will control onr Holy Father Clement. And will her 
Majesty consent withont opposition? For, Sire, whilst she 
was for three months your brother Arthur*s wife, he was so 
sickly that she came to yon and was married to yon as a 
maiden with her hair about her shoulders. And while yonr 
Highnesses have no son, yet her Majesty gave yon three; 
and we cannot judge the acts of righteous heaven, that has 
taken them to paradise.** 

“Enough ! How dare yon lecture me ? Listen ! My 
chaplain is my confessor, not yon ! I love the Queen, and 
yon never dare imply I do not ! I never should have mar- 
ried her, however good she may be, for higher grounds of 
righteousness before God, who is offended at it, and plainly 
shows ns so. See to it, and lay your wits to work to pro- 
cure me a divorce ; for divorced I will be, and yon see to it 
at yonr peril/* and the King leaves the room in anger. 

“What unholy devil*s scheme is he up to now ? He will 
be released! I am to release him at my peril! I could 
easily if I were only Holy Father myself. Bnt perhaps I 
would not if T were Pope, for I could not be made to, 
then! They cheated me out of this- at the last conclave! 


A Game of Bowls. 


81 


For me to scheme against Katherine makes me the enemy 
of the Emperor, and Charles uses Clement VII. at his will. 
I love none of them, but how can I get them to do this 
-thing? 

“And now there is Boleyn’s daughter. I wish she were 
Percy’s wife. But Henry can never marry her! Out of 
the question ! He will make her his mistress. Percy will 
take this to heart, hut many of us have gone this road 
before ! 

“Plot! Plot! I wonder if Norfolk is behind this? I can 
scheme, too ! 

“At my peril! Ah, Henry Tudor, I am not dead yet!” 
Thus his Eminence muses. 

The King, on leaving the Cardinal, joins the Duke of 
Suffolk, and they go to have the King’s toilet finished. 

“Wolsey makes me angry,” the King says to the Duke. 

“He was not enthusiastic with your plans, Sire ?” 

“No. He has every scheme to keep me tied in this thral- 
dom.” 

“Let us to the bowling alley, Sire. You can think bet- 
ter out of doors.” 

“Very well, but Wolsey may look out; for there are other 
men in the kingdom that can serve me,” the King growls as 
they go out together. 

The Cardinal’s bowling alley is a beautiful piece of the 
greenest of greensward, perfectly level, kept mown closely 
and rolled daily. Great spreading elms afford grateful 
shade. In the distance, a glimpse of the river is seen, in 
silvery glory, flashing in the beautiful sunlight. Rustic 
benches are placed here and there for lounging and repose, 
and altogether it is a spot where the younger element of the 
court like to come. 

As his Majesty and the Duke come, they hear merry 
voices and rippling laughter, which make them hasten 
their steps. 

Anne Boleyn, Lady Mary Talbot, the Duchess of Suf- 
folk, and a whole bevy of damsels and gallants are gathered 
chatting and interested in a game that George Boleyn and 
Master Wyatt are playing. 

The game consists of a hundred foot range, marked off, 
with a white ball as the “jack” or mark. Lignum vitae 


82 


By the King's Command. 

bawls are used, oval shaped, with one side reduced smaller 
than the other, making a bias, the difficulty of the game 
being for each player to master the bias of his own particu- 
lar bowl, and land it nearest the "jack.” Any given num- 
ber may be played for. 

When two bowls look equi-distant from the “jack,” the 
distance is measured with pegs with a string attachment, 
and should it be under a yard, the reed “standard” measure 
of the times is used, to decide points to a nicety. 

Percy and Anne are together, enjoying themselves to the 
full; Anne particularly so with her keen sense of humor 
and fund of enjoyment. 

Going to the group, the King singles out Anne, and says : 
“Mistress Boleyn, your brother plays well.” 

“Yes, Sire, and I think he will beat Master Wyatt.” 

“That was a particularly good cast,” he says, as George 
throws again, pointing with his hand that has on it her 
ring, that she gave him as a wager, and that he has had 
altered to fit his little finger. 

Ah ! subtlety of the human eyes ! She sees, and recog- 
nizes it, and as her eyes meet those of his Majesty, there is 
such a tenderness and communication in them, that makes 
floods of flames surge through her cheeks despite herself. 

The game is finished in George Bolevn’s favor and Percy 
walks over to me, and I know it is to get out of the way of 
the King. 

As the game is ended, the Duke of Suffolk proposes a 
game with his Majesty against Sir Francis Bryan and 
any he shall choose. Sir Ftancis immediately selects 
Percy, who dares not refuse to play with his Majesty. 

“I wish they would let me alone. I was going to 
walk quietly away,” he says to me. 

“Never mind, it is only a game, and will soon be 
over,” I say carelessly, yet I feel that Percy is better 
away from the King. 

Stripped to the waist, in their silken hose, the three, 
his Majesty, the Duke, and Percy, are three of the finest 
formed and handsomest men in all the realm. Sir Fran- 
cis is also a fine figure, yet he does not compare with them. 

With a nicety born of long practice and skill, the 
King seeks to carom his opponent’s bowl away from the 


A Game of Bowls. 


83 


“jack,” and leave his own in its place. After a number 
of casts, his Majesty accomplishes this twice which puts 
him in boisterous good humor, and gives them the ad- 
vantage. 

At the second of these, to annoy Percy, and force his 
meaning on him, his Majesty points with that fateful 
finger on which is Anne’s ring, at his bowl, and says: 
“See, it is mine ! The game is mine, my lord !” 

Maddened and stung to the quick as he is, I get near 
him and touch his arm, which seems to calm him some- 
what. Yet he manfully replies: “Not so, Sire, by your 
leave the game is not won yet, and I am still in the con- 
test,” and then he walks over to Anne. 

His Majesty makes another good cast, and there re- 
mains but Percy to throw, when the King walks over 
to where we are, and says to Anne: “See my bowl, Mis- 
tress Boleyn” (pointing at the bowl with his ringed fin- 
ger) ; “and I tell Lord Percy the game is mine. What 
say you?” 

Taken aback at the boldness of the King’s meaning, 
she does not reply, but Percy does. 

“I yield the game not so easily, Sire. I have my chance, 
and mean to win,” he says boldly, looking the King in 
the eyes. 

Walking to the “footer,” with infinite skill he lays his 
bowl alongside that of his Majesty’s a shade nearer the 
“jack,” as we all can see. 

But the King is angry now, and caring for nothing 
but a triumph over Percy, he says: “I tell thee, my 
lord, the game is mine,” and looks at Anne. 

But with his love’s eyes on him Percy cares for 
nothing, and boldly says: “I yield not the game, Sire, 
and can prove it by measurement.” 

The Duke offers Percy the “standard,” while Henry, 
maddened, holds forth his ringed finger and insists 
upon its meaning. “The game is mine, and you know 
it !” 

I touch Percy with my foot as he stoops over, but the 
charm has gone; and putting his hand in his silken 
doublet next his heart, before them' all, he says, as he 
pushes away the Duke’s offered “standard,” “Then, your 


84 


By the King’s Command. 

Highness, I will measure it with this!” And he does 
so, and the King sees the little golden heart and chain 
that Anne has given him, and knows it is a love token. 

Kot thinking they dare go so far without his permis 
sion, he is lashed to fury, and fairly roars, “S’death, my 
lord! Do you dare brave me? We will see to it!” and 
with an angry brow strides away. 


The Grand Masque Upon the Lake. 85 


CHAPTER XII. 

THE GRAND MASQUE UPON THE LAKE. 

The night has come ! 

The throstle is piping his last notes to the fading twi- 
light, and the nightingale has taken np his song, as if con- 
scious of his powers and doing homage for them. 

Along the path edge, and in the shrubbery, the glow- 
worm creeps with tiny lamp of brightness lighting up his 
way ; and the moon, gaining her ascendency over the dark- 
ening earth, flings her silvery mantle over shadowy na- 
ture, bathing all in her gentle light. 

Out in the avenue there is much passing and repassing. 
The bow-men of King and Cardinal, keep order and pre- 
serve right of way. The good humored crowd have taken 
upon themselves the spirit of the masque, and as they can, 
have disguised themselves, some adopting women’s dresses, 
and the women the jerkins and hats of men. Old pieces 
of armour, ancient costumes, rags and representations of 
anything, so that it is a disguise, serve for the crowd who 
are kept without the bounds of the avenue and lake, and 
who make a continuous part of the revellers of the night. 

Out upon the lake a great palatial structure has been 
built to represent the sylvan home of the goddess Diana. 
Dopes of evergreen, with tiny oil lamps secured among 
them, are strung from point to point, their intersections 
secured with wire baskets filled with gorgeous trailing 
flowers. Carved spaces in the floor, banked with moss and 
flowers, permit of two fountains whose waters splash and 
sparkle rainbow tinted from the many colored lamps. A 
forest bank has been formed, enmassed with palms, shrubs, 
ferns and exotic flowers; and right in the centre, an im- 


86 


By the King’s Command. 

mense seat of rustic carved work, with trailing flowers all 
over it, and filled with green silk cnshions, is the throne of 
the goddess, which is approached by four broad steps 
covered with flowering grasses. 

Captive birds are secured among the trees. Gentle does 
with their fawn are held in leashes by maidens habited 
in filmy green, of Grecian design, with head, neck, and 
breast adorned with flowers. 

Bows and arrows, hunting spears, heads of boars and 
antlered deer, are seen everywhere in profusion to the very 
roof. Skins of hear, dog, deer and wolf, are scattered 
here and there ; while stuffed animals, posed in conspicuous 
places, give a realistic effect, as live deer and fawn move 
about among the foliage, and complete the reality of the 
goddess’s sylvan home. 

Looking from the throne of the goddess out into the lake, 
the gorgeous fountain is. seen of purest white marble, 
crowned with the golden goddess and her nymphs, and 
lighted up with hundreds of tiny lamps that send their 
lustre far out into the night, a thing of rarest beauty and 
surpassing loveliness. 

The royal revellers leave the palace as night falls. His 
Majesty is dressed in white velvet, his trunk hose puffed 
with white silk brocade. His hose are of the finest white 
silk, and his shoes are of the same, slashed and buckled 
with jewels. His cloak is white embossed velvet, edged 
with fur, with a jewelled buckle, and his cap of the same 
is plumed, and fastened with a brooch of diamonds. All 
in white he stands, a figure of rare manly beauty ; his left 
hand bears his signet, and his fingers are jewelled; but 
upon his right hand there is naught but Anne’s circlet of 
gold. 

The Duke of Suffolk is dressed as the King’s double, in 
every particular, and as both wear black velvet masks, ex- 
cept for their difference in height, it is difficult to tell 
them apart. 

Queen Katherine is habited as a royal Spanish lady, 
with a priceless lace mantilla edged with gold. She looks 
beautiful as she comes surrounded with a gallant cavalcade 
of grandees, knights, ancient kings and queens, and his 
Eminence, who appears as an abbot of olden times. 


The Grand Masque Upon the Lake. 87 

As they near the abode of the goddess, the farther lake- 
side is suddenly illuminated with red fire, revealing the 
goddess in a snowy pavilion with her attendant maidens. 
She is robed in the finest white silk fabric, with a mantle 
of silver caught on the shoulder with a jewelled clasp. 
Upon her snow white arms are jewelled circlets, and brace- 
lets of silver serpents entwine her wrists. Her hair, un- 
confined but by two silver bands, falls flowing down her 
back, while upon her head is a starry crown that sparkles 
as she moves. A bow, with a quiver of silver arrows, 
completes her costume. Two dogs gambol at her side, and 
lick her hand; and as she moves among her maidens, 
clad, some all in green, and some all in white, with fawns 
held in leashes, she looks Diana personified. 

But see yonder! A gorgeous figure comes in golden 
glory clad. One of the gods surely! See his garments 
shimmering in the light, as each step he takes, his golden 
mantle caught at the shoulder with a jewel, and his tresses 
falling about his shoulders. 

He is Apollo surely, for in his hand is a lyre ; and Apollo 
is god of music; and a disc, for he is god of the stream- 
ing sunshine. Twelve companions accompany him, clad 
like himself, but all in white ; and see ! They take to the 
water in a gilded barge, drawn by snowy swan, and go to 
meet Diana and convey her to her throne. 

As they near the goddess, they sing : 

We greet you , twin sister , with joy and with song , 

Moon Goddess Diana, our homage we pay , 

Embark with your maidens and we will away , 

To yon silver woodlands , the huntress's home. 

Leaping from the prow of the barge, Apollo remembers 
his right of kinship to Diana, and kissing her, says, “My 
divine one, I greet thee !” 

“How beautiful thou art. Thou art a very god in- 
deed !” 

“What shall I say to thee?” 

“That I am thy love !” 

“Thou art adorable !” 

“But come, we have our part to play.” 


88 


By the King’s Command. 

“I would tarry here with thee !” 

“Then that would spoil the Cardinal^ revelry. Come V 9 

Taking her hand, her maidens following, they embark, 
and walking to the prow of the vessel they stand hand in 
hand; and as the oars splash in the water, the men sing 
with mellow voices: 

With perpetual youth endowed. 

Goddess of Arcadia's land; 

In her train her maidens come. 

With Apollo's glorious hand. 

Moonlight , starlight , shine your best , 
Glow-worms' lamps he kindled bright; 

Creatures , pay your homage here 
To the Goddess of the night. 

Spotless Artemis, 

Goddess Diana. 

Then the maidens reply: 

Royal Apollo, twin to our goddess. 

Lighting the ivorld with sun's brightest ray, 

Flora and fauna to life thou bringest. 

Turning the shadows of night into day. 

To both we give homage and deep adoration. 

Beneficent couple, in life intertivined; 

All hail, then! All hail, then! Diana, our Goddess! 

All hail, then! All hail, then! Apollo divine! 
Repeller of ills! 

Glorious Apollo! 

Hand in hand they d'escend from the barge, the dogs 
leaping before them; and as they come to their arboreal 
throne the g^and cavalcade arrives. With a becoming 
grace Apollo advances down the steps with Diana, who 
inclines slightly to their Majesties, as she says, “Welcome, 
most mighty King and Queen, to our sylvan abode. My 
twin brother Apollo and myself greet you. And that you 
may be happy- in the realm of the gods, I will introduce 
you to my subjects, whom I place at your service.” 

• “How know you I am King ?” his Majesty enquires. 


The Grand Masque Upon the Lake. 89 

“Goddesses can read the soul, they are never deceived.” 

“Then my souhs thoughts must please thee, for they are 
kindly towards thee!” he replies. Leading them forward 
to her sylvan throne, the goddess places a hunting horn to 
her lips and blows a blast; when out from wooded recesses 
swarm deer, dogs, wolves, bear, foxes, elves and fairy-folk 
innumerable, who crowd around Diana, when she says: 

“My loving subjects, the high and mighty King of Great 
Britain and France and the noble Queen Katherine, with 
their court, have come to revel with you this night. I give 
them welcome. Now give them yours !” A great chant 
goes up as they sing: 

King and queen , we greet you 
To our woodland shrine. 

Shine upon them , goddess. 

With silvery beams divine . 

Welcome to our revels. 

In woodland shade and fell, 

By waterfall, in starlight , 

In dewy copse , and dell. 

Come l Come! 

We greet you. 

We’ll make the welkin echo 
With mirth of joyous kind. 

We'll show you moonlight wonders 
That fairies only find; 

The food that keeps them fair and young. 

The dew that makes them wise. 

The secret of eternal youth. 

And love that never dies. 

Come! Come! 

We greet you. 

As the last notes die away the subjects of Diana seem to 
melt away with them, for they are gone, and all around 
and far away is heard : 

Come! Come! 

We greet you . 


90 


By the King’s Command. 

Their Majesties 5 pleasure is seen at this novel scene weird 
and fantastic, yet charming in its witchery; and turning 
to tell the goddess so, she is not there ! They have van- 
ished also ! While from far and near the welcome comes : 

Come ! Come! 

We greet you. 

“By my halidom, Cardinal, what have we here ; witchery ? 
Where is the goddess? They have strangely vanished ! 55 

As if to mock the King with a reply, there comes a faint : 

Come! Come! 

We greet you. 

“It sounds like an open invitation, and suppose we ex- 
plore, my lord; for I would see more of the goddess , 55 the 
King says to the Duke. 

“They have completely vanished. Sire . 55 

“Your eyes should have been sharper, Uncle. You are 
not as shrewd as a hobgoblin, for I saw them vanish , 55 says 
a little elf man in brown, as he sits cross-legged on a log. 

“That is the voice of Will Somers! Come here. Will, 
and tell me where to find her . 55 

“You are mistaken, I 5 m no ‘Will , 5 but the king of the 
elves; and a match for any goddess . 55 

“Then, your elf majesty, please tell us the way she went 
and lead me to her , 55 the King says, laughing. 

“Then I must know your errand with her . 55 

“Must to me, you little devil ! If you don’t do as I bid 
you I will beat you , 55 the King says meaningly. 

“Beat the king of the elves? Why you are distraught. 
Catch will-o’-the-wisp easier ! I would lead you into bogs 
and fens, where you’d sink in slime and ooze, and adders 
and toads should fatten on you !” 

“Enough, Will ! And see, here I have thee !” the King 
says making a grab at the dwarf ; but he is too quick for 
his Majesty, and is away, dodging in and out among the 
shrubbery, and appearing dancing tantalizingly in front of 
the King when he stops to take breath. “Let me get at 
thee, you little devil’s imp !” he gasps. 


The Grand Masque Upon the Lake. 91 

“You are getting too fat in the paunch, your bellows roar 
like a smithy’s. Less ‘canary’ and ale at the table,” the 
dwarf says, rubbing his stomach. 

“Have done, fool, and tell me where she is, and I will 
give you these,” the King says, holding out two golden 
coins. 

“Toss them, over, as your hands are overgrown, and you 
have not yet learned to control them.” 

The King does so, and then very calmly the dwarf says, 
“I know not where she is, but they went this way,” pointing 
to a narrow way that leads out into the open. 

“Thou devil’s imp, to keep us here mouthing at thee ! 
Find her for me or I will have thee caught and beaten to a 
jelly,” the King says angrily. And the King and the Duke 
move out into the open. 

“A fool-jelly, a jelly-fool, a belly-fool; an he beat me and 
eat me, I’d sit heavy on his paunch and sour his stomach 
worse than Queen Kate begins to. But this new flame ! 
Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! My lord of Northumberland’s sugar-plum. 
There is fun in this, for I hate the upstart owner of that 
fool horse,” and muttering, the dwarf follows the King out 
into the night on mischief bent. 

Anne, on slipping away with Percy, joins me. A change 
in their costume is soon made. Anne dons a filmy black 
over-dress with crossed bands of velvet over the bosom, and 
a black velvet mask. Percy slips on the toga of a Roman 
senator, and a mask ; and they go forth perfectly disguised. 

“Give us a row on the lake, Thomas.” 

“All right, then we shall be away from close scrutiny; 
for I saw the King bewildered, as he found we were gone ; 
and he has told off that pesky dwarf to post him, I am sure.” 

Sitting together in the back of the boat, Anne says to 
Percy, “I grow more afraid of the King every day.” 

“He is getting unbearable.” 

“I was so afraid for you at the bowls.” 

“I am afraid of myself. If I had a sword I should have 
killed him. But I believe he would like me to draw on 
him, for then he would have me in his power ; but I belong 
not to him, but to his Grace, thank the holy Jesu.” 

“What is to become of us ?” 

“The Cardinal says we may not, but we must marry.” 


92 


By the King’s Command. 

“Marry? My thoughts have not travelled that far/* 
she says piquantly. He steals his arm around her waist as 
he responds, “Love, it must be that. Can’t you see it must 
be that ?** 

“The King cannot separate us.” 

“He is capable of any wrong.” 

“I was so glad to see you vanquish him in the ring. Was 
he not mad !** 

“I dedicated ‘Hector* to thee, then and there, as my 
tribute and vow.” 

“ ‘Hector* mine ! Oh, how I shall love him ! It is your 
greatest gift ! How can you give him up ?** 

“I have no gift greater. I am thine forever. ‘Hector* 
is the next, but all I have is thine ; and when we marry we 
can enjoy them together!** 

“Marry ! Is that the solution ?** 

“Yes ! Yes ! Dear one, yes !” 

The boat touches the bank, and without coming forward, 
as it swings round, he lifts her out, and they stroll away to- 
gether, utterly oblivious of me, who strolls after them at 
some distance, for I have no heart to leave them altogether, 
and my heart is hungry for some of those delicious sweets 
that I may not have. 

Strolling to the dancers, Anne is all activity, and beats 
her foot to the music. “Would you like to dance?** Percy 
says. 

“Indeed I would,** and away they go in their fulness of 
joy with each other. 

Close to me is a little brown man who noses around, 
peeking here and there and cocking his ear at conversation, 
and as the dance ceases and they come to me, he sidles up 
also to see and hear what is going on. The music starts 
up one of those new French tunes, and Anne says: 

“It is the figure dance.” 

“Then let us see you perform.** 

Out she goes into the centre, and begins those wonderful 
evolutions that have taken all our hearts captive. Like a 
summer bird she seems to be poising, posturing, leaping 
to position on tiptoe; semi-floating, pirouetting, her little 
feet fairly flying in the bewildering maze of their dispatch. 

Consciously sensitive of that little man’s presence I look 


The Grand Masque Upon the Lake. 93 

around for him, but he is not there. At my elbow is a tall 
man in a cardinal’s dress and masked, who is looking at 
Anne with intense interest. I pluck Percy by the arm, but 
he has only eyes for Anne, and no thoughts for me. As 
she finishes, the tall man walks to her and says, “Lady of 
the night, that was admirable. Let me bespeak a dance 
with you.” 

Anne knows his voice, and replies, “It will be novel for 
me to be dancing with a prince of the church.” 

“Maybe so, lady, but the fathers of the church hath nof 
always frowned on the dance, or considered it an ungodly 
practice,” and she yields to him. 

As he leads her out he says, “Lovely goddess, why veil 
thy charms? Methinks earlier I saw thee a radiant satel- 
lite.” 

“To disillusionize those who might become moonstruck.” 

“All become so till you fade from our vision.” 

“Then I must leave you, or your madness will become 
deep seated,” she says. 

“Nay ! I am moved almost to madness when you avoid 
me.” 

“I surely forget I am talking to a cardinal, but your 
dress reminds me.” 

“Cardinals confess.” 

“To godd'esses?” 

“The holy mother hath taught us such pleading,” and 
detaining her arm, she feels perforce she must walk with 
him, as the dance is ended. 

The rage of Percy is seen in his stolid face, as he presses 
after them closely, too closely, for the king sees him and 
stops ; and Percy goes boldly forward and then stops. 

“What want you dogging our footsteps ?” the King says, 
roughly. 

“I am waiting to escort the lady with your Grace,” he 
says, answering him according to his disguise. 

“You are dismissed.” 

“Not so till the lady does so.” 

“God’s death, man! Do-you-dare-to-me ? What right 
have you in this lady’s regard that you track her like a 
hound?” 


94 


By the King’s Command. 

“The right of betrothment, Sire,” Percy answers. “And 
not a hound, but a lord of your Northern marshes.” 

“You Cardinal’s puppet! Who dare betroth you with- 
out our sanction? This maid is my ward.” 

“Before she became such, Sire, her father and his 
Eminence ratified our betrothment.” 

“Then they shall answer for it to me. And you are a 
forsworn villain, to cajole this maid with your lies, 
who art betrothed to Lord Shrewsbury’s daughter,” the 
King says, enraged. 

Snatching my sword from me in his frenzy, Percy 
makes at the King, when Anne throws herself in front of 
his Majesty, and I fling myself on Percy’s sword arm, 
as his Grace of Suffolk and some men at arms come run- 
ning up and disarm Percy. 

Dropping his Cardinal’s dress from his person, his 
Majesty stands with that cruel look upon his face that I 
have seen come there lately, as Anne, nearly swooning from 
fright and terror for Percy, pleads, “Oh, Sire! Not to- 
night! This night of pleasurable joy! I beg you for- 
give him his offence! None can help their love! We are 
both guilty, if guilt there be ! Make not a public quarrel 
to my shame!” 

“Well plead, pretty one. You look better as a goddess; 
for you truly are one,” and the King releases Anne’s over- 
dress and she stands out bewilderingly lovely before them 
all as the lovely Diana, fit to stand with any King. 

“Back and away, all of you. You crowd us too closely,” 
the King says to the overcurious. “And my young lord of 
Northumberland, keep to your father’s pledges and cool 
off that overheated brain of thine, that may some dav 
get you into trouble, and mark me, I see yon again with 
this maid at your peril.” 

“He is under arrest, Sire?” the Duke says. 

“No,” and turning on his heel, the King walks away 
with Anne. 

“My God, Thomas ! I am madly distraught ! Mine eyes 
to see that !” and Percy points to the two, and in his im- 
potence, as the Duke of Suffolk and his men bar his way, 
he turns round and dashes away into the night. 

“Mistress Anne, why do you avoid me?” the King says. 


The Grand Masque Upon the Lake. 95 

“Because you are the Queen’s husband.” 

“You do not understand. I am not before God, the 
Queen’s husband.” 

“Then I do not understand! The good Queen Kath- 
erine!” Anne says, bewildered. 

“Yes, I was a boy ! I should not have married her. 
She was my brother Arthur’s wife. My father did it. It 
is unlawful.” 

“Oh, Sire. After all these years?” 

“Yes. A sin continued does not mend it.” 

“But it is unmaidenly for mie to be here with you alone.” 

“No, Anne; I need comfort. Think, I am under the 
judgment of God. Three sons the Almighty hath slain, 
and I cannot go on. I am to have a divorce.” 

“But let us return to the revels,” she pleads, afraid to 
be alone with him. 

tfr Why so soon? You cannot listen to my grief?” 

“I am afraid. I am ashamed. You talk so pleadingly, 
and it seems true; but my heart says it is all wrong for 
me to be here alone with your Majesty,” Anne says, 
frightened at his earnestness. 

“Nay, shrink not from me. I need you to confide in, to 
bring brightness into my gloom. You are that one, Anne. 
My life is to be begun over again with you, for I loved 
you the first time I saw you !” and despite Anne’s struggles 
he kisses her. 

Ashamed, alarmed, Anne bursts on him with reproaches. 
“How dare you, you coward ! You force my protector from 
me and then insult me !” 

“Why. lovely Anne, you never had better protector than 
Henry Tudor.” 

“I remember my sister, Sire ! Shame to your words. 
I will not hear them.” 

“You shall hear them. Listen, Anne, you shall be my 
wife; I will place you on the throne of England, I will 
do it, so help me holy Jesu,” he says, passionately. 

“Lead me from here, Sire. If all you say is true I can- 
not do it, for my heart is another’s,” she says, in despera- 
tion. 

Anne manages to break away and hasten towards the 


96 By the King’s Command. 

revelers, but the King is at her side in an instant. “I 
will have another word with you, lovely Anne.” 

“Say it before the Queen, Sire.” 

“I will tell the Queen some day.” 

“Then in that day she will hate me, and now I am 
ashamed to see her.” 

Taking her hand, he clasps a diamond bracelet upon 
her arm, as he says, “Anne, you will wear that for me; 
and now you may think of what I have told you, for you are 
destined to be mine.” 

Leading her to the palace, he escorts her to her father’s 
apartments, and leaves her on the threshold. 


The Grand Banquet. 


97 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE GRAND BANQUET, AND CARDINAL WOLSEY ? S GIFT TO 
THE KING. 

I do not see Percy till next morning, when I am dress- 
ing ; when he comes to his chamber, his clothing torn from 
the thorns of the gorse and wet through with the dew, so 
unlike the brilliancy of last night. 

“Where hast thou been?” 

“I know not, but I have been thinking it all out, and 
Thomas, she must be rescued from that lustful tiger.” 

“Be discreet in your words. There are too many 
around. But you know I will help you. It was that in- 
fernal dwarf that sold you to his master last night, and 
he will do it again.” 

“He is too contemptible to think about. We can match 
cunning with a fool.” 

“He is a malicious little imp, and I could wring his' 
neck.” 

“Why did you stay my hand? England would be rid 
of a tyrant, for he is becoming one,” Percy says, bitterly. 

“I like your head too well, Percy.” 

“I would give it many times to save her honor.” 

“Perhaps I have saved it for that, you certainly could 
not do it without one. Change your garments, for you look 
distraught in those rags,” I say, pitying him. 

He gets them changed none too soon, for the Cardinal 
sends for us. 

As we enter his room he looks worried and angry. 
“What made you such a fool last night?” he says, ad- 
dressing Percy. 

“Would your Eminence have done differently?” he 
says, dejectedly. 


98 


By the King’s Command. 

“It is not a time for quibbling. You should have kept 
away from the King.” 

“I tried to, but he tracked us, and had it not been for 
that masking, we could have succeeded, for we tried hard,” 
he says, bitterly. 

“I am to tell you and Mistress Boleyn to keep away 
from each other, on pain of the King’s displeasure,” the 
Cardinal says, yet not unkindly. 

“He has told me that himself, your Grace.” 

“Find Mistress Boleyn, Master Wyatt, and bring her 
to me,” the Cardinal says to me. 

When Anne and I come in together, Percy goes to her 
and takes her hand, so deep is his love, but it seems to me 
that Anne is not so fervent as she should be. 

“His Majesty bids me tell you, Mistress Boleyn, and you, 
Percy, that your betrothment is broken by his express 
orders, and that you are to keep from each other’s com- 
pany,” the Cardinal says to them. 

“I utterly defy him, your Grace, as I shall do to his 
face,” Percy says, with heat. 

“You are fiery, like all the Horthumberlands, and many 
have had their heads sheared from their bodies in their 
wilfulness. And what you have said is treason against his 
Highness, and you knew I dare not listen to it without 
your severely testing my love over traitorous duty,” the 
Cardinal says, severely. 

“You remind me, your Grace, of your goodness, and I 
would not offend you, but what can we do?” Percy says, 
understanding his Eminence’s position. 

“Keep out of the way of his Majesty. They leave to- 
morrow morning. And cannot you, Mistress Boleyn, be 
cautious enough and use your woman’s wit, if you have 
any, to check your loverings before the eyes of his 
Majesty ?” 

Anne blushes red under this sting, and retorts, “Will 
your Eminence point out where I have been unmaidenly?” 

“All such loverings are foolishness. One’s duty done, 
is before such nonsense. If Percy there had obeyed his 
father in his affiancement with Lady Mary Talbot and not 
fallen in love with your pretty face, all this would have 
been avoided,” he says, not unkindly. 


The Grand Banquet. 99 

“And have the King bringing to shame any he pleases ?” 
Percy says. 

“You are not the King’s keeper, nor his conscience, 
Percy; and I heartily wish I were not. But here is his 
Highness, and it will be putting fuel to tire for him to 
see you together !” as George Cavendish cries, “The King 
to see his Eminence !” 

Walking to a large panel picture, nearly reaching to 
the ground, Percy touches a knob in the panel, when the 
picture opens inward, revealing a narrow passageway, 
heavily carpeted to disguise any footfalls, and leading 
directly down to the chapel behind the altar. 

I notice the stairs do not terminate here, but lead 
onward, and I whisper, “Percy, where do the stairs lead?” 

“Down to a secret landing at the river side.” 

In the chapel I leave them, as I know they must be 
hungry for each other’s company, as both have sore hearts 
at their persecution. 

The Cardinal knows there is a storm coming; knows 
that already his arch enemy, the Duke of Norfolk, will use 
his niece’s rising favoriteship with his Majesty to advan- 
tage, and that it will require diplomacy to keep even with 
his enemies. 

His Highness meets the Cardinal coldly with, “I thought 
you had some scheming design yesterday, when you pleaded 
so excellently our Queen’s case with us, my lord.” 

Watchful as a cat a mouse, the Cardinal knows to what 
the King alludes, and answers, “The Queen’s case, your 
Highness, is one that has its true merits of defense, and 
cannot be adjudged hastily. And, Sire, I do not think 
you would wish it.” 

“Who gave you permission to ratify a betrothment con- 
tract with one of our wards without our knowledge?” the 
King says, ignoring the Cardinal’s reply. 

“Mistress Boleyn was betrothed to Lord Percy before 
she became your Highness’ ward, and Sir Thomas Boleyn 
accepted their betrothment.” 

“You are clever at parrying, but you need not fence with 
me, Wolsey. You know she became one of our wards 
immediately she was notified of her appointment to the 
Queen, And yet in your own palace, to serve your own 


: LofC. 


100 


By the King’s Command. 

ends, yon dispose of these matters without consulting me. 
Why did you not guide Sir Thomas differently?” 

“Lady Boleyn, from a conversation with your Highness, 
thought you approved of the matter, Sire.” 

“Then she is an old fool!” the King says, vexed at 
this excuse the Cardinal can give. Then reflecting, he 
says, “Did Lady Boleyn tell all our conversation?” 

“She told Sir Thomas that you had reserved Mistress 
Boleyn for some one at court, and her ladyship understood 
you meant Lord Percy,” the Cardinal says, hiding the 
part he has had in the transaction. 

“The dolt ! Her bright wit saved for that hot headed 
puppy! Wolsey, you can undo what you have done for that 
upstart of yours. Do you know he had the audacity to 
draw his sword on me last night ? What kind of treason- 
able cubs are you rearing around you?” he says, cruelly. 

Wolsey sees he is dallying with a tiger, one who is de- 
generating from a religious enthusiast to a cruel and re- 
lentless man; one who has written a work on the “Seven 
Blessed Sacraments,” and received from the Holy Father 
Leo X., of blessed memory, the title of “Fideo defensor” 
(defender of the faith). One who is using his priestly 
knowledge (for he was trained by his father, Henry VII., 
for the church), to crafty ends, thus murdering the religion 
in him that he once possessed. 

“I did hear that Lord Percy forgot himself, your High- 
ness, and I heard of your goodness in pardoning his of- 
fence,” his Eminence says, condoning Percy’s offence as 
much as he can. 

“It is not pardoned. I have something in store for 
him that will make him remember it, but that is my af- 
fair,” the King says, cruelly. 

Wolsey wonders what it is, but the King goes on: “Have 
you talked to the Queen about the divorce, as I hinted to 
you?” 

Sire ” 

“What did ’she say?” 

“Flatly refused to listen to me, Sire. Her Majesty 
said I was insulting her.” 

“Did you not explain ? Did you not reason with her ?” 

“Yes, Sire. But her Majesty utterly refuses to listen 


The Grand Banquet. 101 

to any reason or argument, and says you have never told 
her yourself/* 

“Did she say that? She has spirit, and I admire her 
for it. I shall have to tell her, hut I dread doing it/* 

Inwardly the Cardinal is glad the King is in such a 
fix, and only hopes the Queen’s courage will stay with her. 
Perhaps that will give him time, and the King’s fancy 
may wear out for Mistress Boleyn and matters come 
all right. 

He will work along these lines and encourage her 
Majesty to be firm, and that will save him antagonizing 
any of the court factions. 

The Cardinal’s brain thinks these things quickly, as 
Henry says, “How will you go about getting me the di- 
vorce ?** 

“The greatest difficulty will be the Holy Father and the 
Emperor Charles. Then the Princess Mary will be de- 
clared illegitimate by that act and that will give offence 
to France. Then her Majesty’s obduracy, Sire.” 

“You will tell me these things, Wolsey, but ‘it must be 
done / ” 

“I will draw up a citation. Sire, and submit it to your 
Highness, and ” 

“I care not how! but it must be done!” so saying, the 
King retires, vexed. 

It is a trying day for all, for the irritability of his 
Majesty is reflected by the court, as all can see that the 
Cardinal is chafed and sore by the King’s manner, and it 
gives his enemies a chance to draw the King’s attention 
to his Grace’s wealth and to his palatial surroundings and 
regal appointments. 

At the grand farewell banquet this is particularly no- 
ticeable, as the more the Cardinal is lavish and extrava- 
gant on the King, the more it seems to stir up envy and 
resentment at his Grace’s possessions. The very pay the 
master has given and been very hardly earned, the mas- 
ter covets back in his own coffers. 

The grand banquet hall, as we have seen, has been fur- 
nished with a magnificence to outdo the expectations even 
of Henry. 

Added to the decorations already seen, the Cardinal has 


102 By the King’s Command. 

had many great vases and dishes of gold set up and fast- 
ened on the walls and about the great hall. 

A large ewer of gold tilled with sweet smelling waters, 
exhaling its delightful fragrance, is placed centrally on the 
raised upper cross table, from the two ends of which 
separate tables, each sixty feet long, go down the sides 
of the great hall. 

Their Majesties* seats are canopied with purple velvet 
hangings, emblazoned with the royal arms, and from which 
they can see the long lines of guests before them. 

A fanfare announces the coming of their Majesties, then 
to the strains of music, preceded by heralds, the royal 
procession comes. Sir Eeginald leads them in courtly 
fashion, walking backward the full length of the great 
hall and bowing to the oncoming of their Majesties. 

His Majesty comes with the Queen on his arm and his 
Grace at his side. 

The Queen hath a pleasant countenance and looks 
queenly, though underneath the outward show there is 
a look of care, denoting heart hunger and a craving for 
such tender love that eighteen years ago she had, and had 
fully. She is dressed in royal purple velvet with ermine 
border, her hair coifed and adorned with pearls, and she 
looks really brilliant, but for that gravity of countenance 
I speak of. 

The King is dressed in a lighter shade of purple em- 
bossed silk, with rich purple velvet cloak trimmed with 
ermine, and as he comes along he turns to the Duke of 
Suffolk and says, “His Eminence outrivals us in points 
of splendor. Methinks if we saw not the red frock upon 
him (alluding to his Cardinal’s dress), we might well 
think we are being entertained by the Emperor.** 

“Or his Holiness, Sire,** the Duke says, quickly. 

“I doubt whether his Holiness is as well housed just 
now,** the Duchess says. 

“Not since the Emperor and the King of France are dis- 
tressing him,** the Duke replies. 

The Duke of Norfolk says to his Grace of Suffolk, 
“The King will know where to look for his next loan,** 
and the Cardinal winces as he receives these cruel thrusts. 

Upon the arm of the Duke of Norfolk is Anne Boleyn, 


The Grand Banquet. 103 

a place given to her upon a hint from his Majesty. She 
is exquisitely dressed in a delicate shade of pink embossed 
silk, cut square on the shoulders and chest and edged with 
a broad band of silver embroidery. Her long sleeves are 
slashed and puffed, the puffs tied across with narrow silver 
bows; upon her neck is a string of pearls, her hair is 
coifed and ornamented with pearls, all the gift of his 
Grace, the Duke of Norfolk, who finds it to his interest to 
benefit his niece who is so prominently under the kingly 
notice. Upon her arm is seen the King’s bracelet, that 
flashes and sparkles as she walks. 

Anne is placed with the Duke nearly opposite the King, 
who with a jealous eye watches the placing of his favorite. 

At the King’s elbow is Will Somers and at the Car- 
dinal’s is Sir Wittypate. There never were greater rivals 
in the world than these two manikins, Will never for- 
giving Sir Wittypate his discomfiture in the lists, and Sir 
Wittypate crowing over his defeated rival, and they hate 
each other cordially. 

As some celebrated “Canary” is poured into his Majesty’s 
goblet, in a boastful tone Sir Wittypate says, “Aye! My 
master can pour gold down the throats of his guests.” 

“Aye ! But thy canary cannot sing such tunes as my 
Master!” and the dwarf rings a golden coin with Henry’s 
head stamped thereon, on the table. 

“Oh, poof ! My master keeps such in hogsheads in his 
cellar!” alluding to the wine, and also to the Cardinal’s 
treasure. 

His Eminence is uneasy under this crossfire of boast- 
fulness of the fools, and the glances of the guests at his 
Majesty, who is taking it in ; and so he says, “Hush, fool ! 
Thou mistakest liquid for solid !” 

“Yes, Uncle. But liquid by cooling becomes solid, and 
thou art cooling considerable liquid down below there.” 

“We shall know where to come when we wish to nego- 
tiate another loan, for I understand it is a hard matter 
for your Chancellorship to get it from the people,” the 
King says, coolly. 

“Some bloodshed might have been spared and the peo- 
ple less dissatisfied if some of the leaders were more gen- 
erous,” the Duke of Norfolk says, urging his Majesty on. 


104 By the King’s Command. 

“Aye ! I can fatten others, and keep poor myself,” the 
King replies, moodily. 

“Not so, Sire, while yonr faithful subjects possess any- 
thing worthy your Highness 5 acceptance / 5 the Cardinal 
says, willing to sacrifice anything to foil his enemies. 
“Sir Reginald, hand me your keys , 55 he calls to his cham- 
berlain, and, going to his Majesty, says clearly, before them 
all: 

“Will your Majesty accept a proof of my devotion? 
And I withhold nothing but my few personal servants and 
few belongings, that can be of no use to your Highness , 55 
and the Cardinal, kneeling, hands the keys to the King, 
whilst a silence as of death falls upon all at the munificent 
gift of his Eminence. 

Rising from his knees, the Cardinal draws himself up 
to his full height, and with a goblet of wine in his hand, 
says, “To the King and Queen's most excellent majesty, 
and may the heavenly Jesu ever bless them ! 55 

All rise to the Cardinal's pledge and benediction, and 
he can see consternation written on the faces of his 
enemies, as the King says, “Why, Wolsey, thou art gen- 
erous; dost thou mean this ? 55 

“This palace is the work of my hands, Sire, and a 
place I have grown to like, but I have nothing that I con- 
sider before the love I bear your Highness . 55 

“I am moved at thy devotion, Wolsey , 55 the King says, 
laying his arm on the shoulder of the Chancellor as they 
move off together to the with-drawing room. 

Anne remembers her pledge to Percy to meet him in 
the chapel, and as she follows with the rest, his Majesty, 
to the with-drawing room, she is perplexed to know how to 
fulfill the same, as the King soon joins her. 

“I see you are wearing my pledge, and it pleases me , 55 
he says to her. 

“You commanded me to, Sire . 55 

“Would you not from choice ? 55 

“No, Sire . 55 

“Many a maid would, and be pleased that the King so 
noticed her . 55 

“Would you respect her for doing so, Sire ? 55 

“You are questioning me. But I will answer you. No, 


The Grand Banquet. 105 

dainty Anne. Your sweet modesty and charming manner 
attract me to you,” he says. 

“I think her Majesty is noticing yonr earnest conversa- 
tion, Sire.” 

“Then that proves the innocency of my attentions, 
when I mind it not. Thou art beautiful to-night,” he 
says, admiringly. 

Anne knows not how to get away from the King, when 
the Cardinal engages his attention, then she contrives to 
slip away. As she is leaving the room, the King whispers 
a word to his jester, who darts away after her. 

Tripping down the banquet stairs, instead of entering 
the palace proper, Anne makes her way to the chapel, 
opens the door and vanishes within. 

“Queer that Mistress Boleyn needs confession at this 
late hour,” the fool thinks. “I will fetch her a confessor,” 
he says to himself, chuckling. 

Stealing on tiptoe to the door, he lays his ear against it, 
and hears subdued voices within. “Naughty for Mistress 
Boleyn to be confessing at so late an hour ; my master shall 
shrive them,” he remarks. 

Darting back the way he came, he tells his Majesty, 
who beckons the Duke of Suffolk and Sir Harry Guilford 
to attend him. Securing torches, they proceed to the 
chapel, the King jealous and angry at being disobeyed. 

Meanwhile, near the sacred lamp, the lovers linger, 
and in its gentle light Percy looks into her eyes he loves 
so well. 

“So thou hast come!” he says, endearingly laying her 
head against his breast and caressing it. 

“I could not stay away.” 

“I adore thee for saying that.” 

“The King detained me, but I contrived to slip away.” 

“How beautiful thou art!” he says, rapturously. 

“Since yesternight I have only thought of thee.” 

“Then I can almost forgive the King, who is forging 
our souls together, for they are in harmony.” 

“I leave thee to-morrow.” 

“I love thee to-night.” 

“You look careworn and anxious.” 

“Only for thy welfare. But what a beautiful bracelet!”. 


106 By the King’s Command. 

he says, as the sleeve of her dress falls down a little as he 
lifts her fingers to his lips. 

“My Uncle Norfolk bade me wear it this night,” she 
says, equivocating. 

“Making thee fine to please the King? Thy uncle is 
no true relative of thine; one that would do that, would 
sell thee alive. I will give thee a better one, that thou 
canst wear and think of me,” he says, fondly. 

“I think of thee without it, all the time. But hush! 
Hark ! Percy ! Who comes ? It is the King !” as the door 
softly opens and torches flash out. 

It is with difficulty that Percy prevents Anne from 
screaming. Taking her in his arms as he would a child, 
he soothes her tenderly with “Never fear, they shall not 
see us !” he carries her wellnigh fainting behind the altar, 
praying for help as he goes, touches the panel knob that 
admits them out of sight, as the King’s voice is heard say- 
ing, “There they are, I see shadows by the altar. This 
way, gentlemen.” 

The three, with the fool, hasten to the altar and search 
diligently, but the chapel is empty but for the living lamp 
and the holy presence. 

“Hast thou deceived us again?” he says, turning to Will 
Somers. “But no, I distinctly saw moving shadows.” 

“Is there no secret way out, Sire?” the Duke says. 

“Not that I know of. But you, Guilford, hurry to the 
Cardinal’s room and report if the Lord Percy is in evi- 
dence, and you, fool, hurry in and find out where Mistress 
Boleyn is?” he says, giving Will a good kick. 

“I will be avenged, my young lord crafty. I am thy 
debtor to a l&rge amount, and the account is growing,” 
the fool says, as he hurries away. 

Mistress Anne is found in the Queen’s retiring room, 
and Percy with his Grace’s secretaries, and so both have 
to report. 

“A mystery, surely!” the King says, thoughtfully. 


A Heresy Trial and Its Punishment. 107 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A HERESY TRIAL AND ITS PUNISHMENT. 

London, in the time of our story, is a walled city for 
her defense. On the east she is protected by the Tower, 
then the wall extends to the Aid-Gate, then nearly due 
west to the Moor-Gate, outside of which is the field of that 
name. Then the wall runs northwest to the Cripple-Gate, 
then a little further west, and abruptly turns south to the 
Alders-Gate, then southwest and west to the Yew-Gate, 
then south to the Lud-Gate, terminating at his Majesty’s 
palaces of Baynards Castle, and Bridewell, by the river 
side. Bridewell palace is the residence of the Court, since 
his Majesty’s palace of Westminster was partly destroyed 
by fire fifteen years ago. The river Thames is the main 
highway of traffic. Along its north bank are many “hithes,” 
or stairs, leading up to noble residences and public landing 
places to the city proper. Upon its bosom are stately 
barges manned by liveried watermen, of the kings, nobles, 
guilds of the city, and the many religious houses. 

Wealthy residences are along the river bank, as his 
Grace of Shrewsbury’s at London Bridge, and my lord 
Leicester’s, his Majesty’s, and his Eminence’s at York 
Place. 

The Cardinal’s palace stands well back from the river, 
and is surrounded by lovely grounds and a park that reach 
to his Majesty’s at Westminster. His Majesty’s reach 
nearly to the city wall at the Yew-Gate, and as the country 
is being encroached upon because of crowded London, the 
King has issued a proclamation against such encroachment 
to preserve the partridges, pheasants and heron in his 
woods. 

Two-thirds of the area of London is occupied by religious 


108 By the King’s Command. 

guilds and brotherhoods, notably the Black, White, and 
Grey Friars, known by the distinguishing colors of their 
dress, and the great Carthusian order. At least one-third 
of the inhabitants of London are monks, friars and nuns, 
whose increasing revenues excite the King’s envy, and 
particularly recently, when he applied, through the Cardi- 
nal, for a loan, and the friars took the matter to the pulpits 
and preached against it. 

The Cardinal’s Legatine Court is held in the Dominican 
Monastery of the Black Friars, and it is here in their large 
chapter house his Eminence comes in state, in his whole 
pomp, mitred, preceded by tip-staves, criers, his secretaries, 
six and thirty Abbots, mitred Priors and Bishops, my Lord 
Mayor, Sheriffs and other dignitaries, to judge the case of 
Master Packington and others. 

It appears that a heretic priest, one William Tyndale, who 
is under ban and censure of the Bishop of London, hath 
escaped over seas to Antwerp. There he has been trans- 
lating holy writ into the vulgar English and sending large 
consignments of the translations of the New Testament 
to England. It has been easy for him to do this, for be- 
fore his escape he had been entertained by Master Hum- 
phrey Monmouth, a merchant of Cheapside, and Master 
Packington, a trader with Antwerp, who had assisted his 
escape, and now traffics with his books that the common 
people eagerly buy for twenty-eight pence, and even more, 
according to the binding. 

There has been a discontent recently among the masses, 
and their self-assertion of their rights in matters of re- 
ligion, that has been stirred up by that other pestilent 
German monk, Martin Luther, whom the Elector of Saxony 
shelters. 

John Tyndale, brother of William, hath been arrested, 
and Master Thomas Patmore also, and as many have been 
implicated in the purchase of the Testaments, it brings 
a great crowd to see what the great Lord Chancellor will 
do with them. 

Percy, who is in attendance upon his Grace, the Cardi- 
nal, hath arranged with me to have Anne meet him with 
myself, disguised as maid and apprentice. And it is here 
we come and listen to the trial. 


A Heresy Trial and Its Punishment. 109 


His Eminence, looking sternly around, opens the pro- 
ceedings with a homily. “I would have you know that you 
have committed a frightful sacrilege. God’s word is God’s 
word, locked and sealed. There is no common key to 
unlock it. Its unlocking and sacred interpretation hath 
been committed to Mother Church for its safeguard and 
reverence. To be commonly handled defames it. The 
priests of God are its sacred custodians and interpreters, 
and they, and they only. Do you understand?” he says, 
looking at them searchingly. 

“What made you, Master Monmouth, the friend of a 
heretic ?” 

“So please your Eeverence, Master Tyndale abode for 
half a year in my house; a quieter and more godly man 
I have never seen, full of prayer and goodness. We paid 
him ten pounds to pray for the souls of our parents, and 
others did the same because of his piety.” 

“Have you read the book that he calls the Testament, 
that with his devil’s conceit he calls a translation ?” 

“Yes, your Grace. And it did not appear wrong to me, 
for I never before read such godly words.” 

“Were you not at sermon at St. Paul’s Cross when the 
IBishop of London warned you all against the deceitful 
translation, when he told you that upon his examination 
he found more than two thousand errors?” his Eminence 
says sharply. 

“Yes, your Grace.” 

“Have you read the book since then ?” 

“I have, and cannot see how such good words that speak 
to the heart can be evil.” 

“Easily, sirrah ! It’s the glossing of the devil, who would 
lead thee, and all like thee astray,” his Grace says sternly. 

“Master Patmore, I hear you have not only been reading 
the cursed book, but have your place headquarters for their 
sale?” 

“I purchased several hundred copies, your Grace, and am 
selling them without thought of offending any.” 

“It is an offence against God, the Holy Father, and 
the King’s grace, who has written against heresy, and 
^uch heresy as may lose thee thy soul in hell,” the Cardi- 


110 By the King’s Command. 

nal says hotly, bringing his hand down with a bang on 
the table. 

“And now, Master Packington, the Bishop of London 
recently had a number of the heretic works publicly burned 
at St. Paul’s Cross, and you know it; how is it you have 
procured more for sale?” 

“I am a merchant, your Grace, and they are profitable 
for trade.” 

“Have you read the work yourself?” 

“ Yes , your Eminence, and find it an innocent book.” 

“Do you think if it were that the Bishop of London 
would bum it? Do you set up your opinion against that 
of his Grace ?” 

“Ho, your Eminence. But all men are curious on things 
prohibited, and his Grace’s burnings hath whetted the 
people’s curiosity, and they will purchase and read them.” 

“How many volumes have ye on hand?” 

“Five hundred, maybe, out of fifteen hundred, your 
Grace.” 

“A thousand devil’s seeds sown broadcast to breed sedi- 
tion against God and the State, sirrah! I will make an 
example of you all,” he says hotly. 

“I suppose you, John Tyndale, think like your heretic 
brother ?” 

“I am guilty, like the rest, in reading the translation, 
your Grace.” 

Turning to the Bishop of London, angrily, he says: 
“My Lord of London, you are at fault in allowing this 
to go on in your jurisdiction under your eyes.” 

“I thought it was all extinguished, your Eminence.” 

“Thinking is not enough ! A shepherd’s duty is more — 
not to let such devil’s work harry your flock! If you 
know yourself, convince these of their error, while I think 
out such punishment as shall make them smart,” and the 
Cardinal brings down his staff with a resounding blow on 
the table. 

To be rebuked publicly does not please the Bishop, and 
so he says to Master Packington: “Methinks the price of 
a book is a cheap sum to sell souls to the devil.” 

“I did not so think, but, as it is sold for God’s holy 
iWord, even if it is poorly translated, we thought it not 


A Heresy Trial and Its Punishment. Ill 

harm to know the will of the heavenly Jesu,” Master 
Packington says bravely. 

“His Eminence hath already told yon the heretic priest, 
Tyndale, false to the Church, is unable to interpret it other 
than falsely, and your sense should tell you that, if you 
have any,” the Bishop says angrily. 

“But, my Lord, why doesn’t Holy Church translate the 
Scriptures and give them us to read?” 

“Because,” saith the Cardinal, breaking in, “you would 
all be conceited fools and imagine yourselves Bishops 
and Cardinals and get further out of your bounds, and 
to help you back to your place, you and the heretic’s 
brother may load yourselves down with the heretic works 
and ride with your faces to the tails of your beasts and 
bum them at St. Paul’s this day, and Master Patmore 
may assist you, and I will leave it for my Lord of Lon- 
don to fix your further penance.” 

“And, Master Monmouth, you were not eager in loan- 
ing to his Highness recently, and so you can pay into his 
treasury £100 and lie in the new prison for a week to 
look over your breviary. And if any of you come before 
me on a similar charge I shall adjudge ye heretics, and 
perhaps fire will convince ye,” he says ominously. 

Getting a dismissal from the Cardinal, Percy joins Anne 
and me in the courtroom, which we leave to go into the 
city to be further away from Bridewell. 

“We are gnilty in reading the Evangel book,” Anne 
says, looking up into Percy’s face. 

“It is our troth-plight pledge, and talks of love, and I 
am not sorry, for my love to thee it hath deepened.” 

“Heretic or no, I always carry it with me. I have it 
here in my bosom,” she says. 

“Thou couldst only be heretic in one way to me.” 

“And that is?” 

“To love another,” Percy whispers. 

“Let us through the New-Gate and perfect those most 
important plans that I have been making,” I say, for it is 
hard work for one to be satisfied and have his fellow enjoy 
all the sweets. 

“All right, Thomas, let us do so.” 

Through the New-Gate there is an inn, where the city 


112 


By the King’s Command. 

folk come to enjoy themselves, and there is a bear gar- 
den and cockpits and many amusements. This is where 
we go and talk about our conspiracy for Percy and Anne 
to go away together out of the reach of the King. 

“Thou dost make a stout looking apprentice, Thomas, 
while thou art too dainty for servant maid, sweet Anne,” 
Percy says as the love lights up his face. 

“We have mtuch to do,” I say, for somehow it is hard 
to see these two and know I have no part in their love. 

“How didst thou manage to get away ?” 

“Mistress Anne wanted to do some shopping at my 
Lady Gresham’s, in Cheapside, and I had to see Master 
Clackton, his Majesty’s tailor, and we adopted these cos- 
tumes that you might see how well we can disguise our- 
selves to go away.” 

“What hast thou done?” 

“This. One of Master Packington’s boats leaves in a 
few days for Antwerp; it is navigated by Master John 
Raimund, who will take two passengers. She rides at 
anchor at the ‘Old Swan’ Inn at London Bridge. I know 
not when she sails, but whilst thou art enjoying thy selves 
I will see Master Raimund as to that and meet thee after 
noon at the book burning and report to thee.” 

“Thou art good, Thomas. At St. Paul’s Cross then,” 
Percy calls after me as I go. 

“What if his Majesty would find us out?” Anne says, 
as the thought is terrible to her. 

“We would plan again, for he shall not tyrannize over 
thee, my love.” 

“I can scarcely believe I have given my consent to run 
away with thee !” she says shyly. 

“Hot as my wife?” and he gazes into her eyes. 

“Will Father Clement come?” 

“Good Father Forest hath gotten his promise, and he 
is to be at the ‘Old Swan’ Inn and marry us.” 

“What did Father Forest say?” 

“Under the seal of confession I told him everything, and 
he is against the King’s treatment of the Queen, and so 
aids us.” 

“When is it?” 


A Heresy Trial and Its Punishment. 113 

“The day after to-morrow, I think, but Thomas will as- 
certain that.” 

“I like not to go this way.” 

“At Antwerp you shall be fitted as becomes your station 
as the Lady Anne Percy and the future Countess of 
N orthumberland.” 

“Will your father ever forgive us ?” 

“I care not; he has long since cared little about me.” 

“And the Cardinal?” 

“I am sure he will be pleased.” 

“Shall we be happy, think you ?” 

“Happy with me ! Do you doubt it ? I live and think 
from day to day with you only in my thoughts; thou art 
always with me, and I find myself taking thee as my ideal, 
for I am constantly saying to myself, ‘Will this please my 
little Anne ?’ ” 

“I do not doubt thy love, but I am uneasy as to my own 
sometimes.” 

“Do you not love me?” he says, a pained look coming 
into his face. 

“Yes, but not in the strong way like your own, and if — 
the — King — was not — so — wicked — I — could — not run 
away !” 

“I will make thee love me by loving thee so heartily that 
I shall be glad I have not the fulness now, since it will grow 
more and more,” he says rapturously. 

“Must we not go and meet Thomas? We have been here 
a long while.” 

“Yes, we will go. And speed the moments till we are on 
the sea and away from Henry’s tyranny,” he says joyfully. 

At St. Paul’s Cross they mingle with a vast crowd, as the 
procession is coming. Facing the pulpit is a large bonfire 
of faggots, built ready for the books that are being brought. 

Fifty light horsemen of the City Watch head the proces- 
sion, followed by Sir John Gresham, the Lord Mayor, in his 
robes of office, with the Sheriff and Aldermen attending 
him; then follow the Bishops, Priors and Abbots, and a 
number of friars and monks of the various orders, and after 
them a cartful of the heretic books, then the guilty three, 
dressed in white robes, with pointed caps upon their heads, 
riding with their faces to their horses’ tails and their feet 


114 By the King’s Command. 

tied under their horses* bellies. The heretic works are tied 
all over them and over their horses and they look pitiable 
spectacles, as the zealous rabble have been pelting them, 
that a dozen of the City Watch, who bring up the rear, do 
not prevent. 

Bishop Fisher, of Rochester, preaches the sermon and 
scores them hard on leaning to heresy ; then they are made 
to go round and round the fire and cast in the heretic 
works to the gibes of the monks and rabble, who look not 
like the under shepherds of Christ’s flock, but something 
like a scene of Satan’s. 

"I like not this ! Here is Thomas, and let us away. 
Those monks look like what I picture purgatory to be,” 
Anne says. 

"It does. I like it not, and methinks it will not stop 
men from reading the gentle words that you and I have 
read,” Percy says in disgust. 

"I have news for thee !” I say, coming to them. 

"Good news is welcome, Thomas.” 

"Then Master Raimund’s ship sails the day after to- 
morrow, in the evening at turn of tide, which should be at 
twilight.” 

"Then that will suit our plans well, for we can be 
married and aboard in the evening and not missed till 
morning, when we can be well out in the channel and 
beyond pursuit.” 

Sauntering along we come to Bridewell, when Anne 
slips in and changes herself to attend the Queen, while 
Percy and I go to my quarters and talk over matters till 
late, as I am not on duty, and Percy has privileges from 
the Cardinal that make some of us envious. 

As I go with Percy to the "stairs” to his boat to take 
him to York Place, I notice Will Somers slip away from 
near my lodgings, and I wonder if the impish dwarf has 
been listening to us. But I don’t see how he could very 
well without my knowing it, and, while the thought bothers 
me, yet I dismiss it from my mind. 


His Majesty’s Bold Declaration. 115 


CHAPTER XY. 

his majesty’s bold declaration. 

I am on duty in the King’s private apartments the next 
day, when the Duke of Suffolk comes in and the King dis- 
misses me ; and I know that means a private conference. 

“Thou lovest adventure, my lord ?” the King says, glee- 
fully. 

“Always, Sire, if it is with thee.” 

“Then what I tell thee on thy life thou tell no one, but 
just as I plan I would have thee execute for me,” the King 
says, eagerly. 

“I have not hitherto disappointed thee and will not fail 
thee now, Sire.” 

“Then, Ho there ! Master Heneage, have Will Somers in 
attendance.” 

The dwarf coming in, the King says, “Will, tell my Lord 
of Suffolk what thou hast told me.” 

“Ha, ha, Uncle ; that is fun ! And you must know, then, 
that Mistress Boleyn is to run away with my lord Car- 
dinal’s conceited pet, who played me that fool trick in the 
lists. They sail on a merchant boat from London Bridge 
to-morrow night for Antwerp, and Master Wyatt is assist- 
ing them.” 

“Where didst thou hear that, Will?” 

“In Master Wyatt’s room last evening. You must know 
that I saw a pretty wench enter the palace last evening 
and, accosting her daintily, she fled from me to Sir 
Thomas Boleyn’s quarters, and I followed. Judge my sur- 
prise when the dainty darling turned on me and boxed 
my ears, and then I saw it to be Mistress Boleyn,” 

“Then what didst thou do ?” 


116 By the King’s Command. 

“Why, Uncle, it set me to thinking, what is Mistress 
Boleyn in disguise for? And I bethought me she might 
be disobeying the King. Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! And so I strolled 
off to Master Wyatt’s room and crept up pretty softly. 
Ha ! Ha !” 

“And what then, fool?” 

“Why, Master Cocky, of my lord Cardinal’s, is plotting 
with Master Wyatt to run off with Mistress Boleyn, away 
from his naughty Highness there !” 

“When are they to go?” 

“They are to he married by Father Clement, of the 
Carthusian Order at the ‘Old Swan Inn/ and they are to 
board the vessel and leave with the tide. And, somehow, 
I think Uncle will be on hand. Ha ! Ha !” 

“The audacity of that puppy,” the Duke says, surprised. 

“He is a puppy whose paws I must clip, or he is on the 
highroad to have his head sheared. But all the Northum- 
berlands are a wilful and stubborn set, and I will teach 
that cub a stern lesson. Are you sure, fool, thou hast not 
deceived me?” the King says sternly. 

“I tell you, Uncle, as I heard it.” 

“Then I will show that cub such a revenge that shall 
last him his life, and see no one knows it, or I shall 
know who told it. On thy way out, Will, send me the 
Cardinal.” 

Wolsey entering, the King says: “Wolsey, were the Earl 
of Northumberland and my Lord Shrewsbury in attendance 
when you came in?” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“Then, Master Heneage, have them come to me, and 
see that no one intrudes on us.” 

The two Earls come in. The Earl of Northumberland 
having just arrived from the north, goes to his Majesty 
and kneeling, kisses his hand. He is the fifth of his line, 
a tall, well built, grizzled warrior, descended from a line 
of warriors. The second Earl died fighting on the battle- 
field of St. Albans, the third on the bloody field of Tow- 
ton; Percy’s grandfather was killed in quelling a rebellion 
for King Henry VII., and this Earl the King looks upon 
as the strongest factor in insuring peace on his northern 
borders, 


His Majesty’s Bold Declaration. 117 

“My lord of Shrewsbury, wilt thou he at thy house at 
the bridge to-morrow night ?” the King says, casually. 

“Yes, Sire,” the Earl says, seeing it is a command that 
he shall be there. 

“It is well, and if thou shouldst have the Lord of 
Northumberland as thy guest, we may surprise thee 
secretly, and perhaps with his Eminence here.” 

“I am honored at the thought, Sire.” 

“Then see thou keep the matter secret, for I may need 
an obedient service from all of you that demands absolute 
secrecy; see that you keep my counsel. That is all,” the 
King says, dismissing them, and they go out wondering. 

Going into the Queen’s apartments, the King finds her 
Majesty busy with her maids, some embroidering, some 
conversing with lords in attendance, while Mistress Bo- 
leyn is at the harpsichord playing to her. 

“Good morning, Kate, thou art busy here.” 

“Good morning, Henry. Thou dost honor our diligence 
with thy notice,” the Queen says affably. 

Strolling over to Mistress Anne, the King says aloud, 
“Come, Mistress Anne, thou art deft with thy fingering, 
but give us a song with thy sweet voice.” 

Anne is filled with the thought of how soon she will be 
away from his Majesty and married to her heart’s love. 
She has not thought of consequences, only her own and 
Percy’s happiness. But now the thought strikes her of 
leaving all these behind her, and his Majesty’s wrongful 
kindness towards her, for she thinks “he has been kind.” 

“Canst think of no song?” 

“Yes, Sire, I will sing you a little French bird song that 
pleases me.” 

“Then it will please me, I know, if it pleases thee,” 
he says to her quietly. 

Thinking of the morrow and what the morrow will bring, 
she sings: 

My soul is light 
And high I fly , 

For freedom's come , my bonds are burst , 

The door stands wide , I'm gone at last; 

I sing to thee , 

Who set me free. 


118 


By the King’s Command. 

My souVs a-hope , 

My spirit's glad , 

You called me back, you meant it not. 

But would have kept me caged and sad; 

But I'm away, 

1 bless the day. 

Call not again, 

I cannot come , 

The sky's too bright, my heart's too light, 
'Twould die and sing not, caged again; 

Kindness misplaced. 

Good-bye ! Good-bye ! 

“That is a pretty song, and thon singest it as if thou 
hadst a thought of leaving us and wast giving us thy fare- 
well,” the King says, going to her. 

Anne is startled at the King’s interpretation of her 
thought, and would be alarmed only she knows the impossi- 
bility of his knowing her secret, and she replies, “I learned 
it in France, Sire.” 

“Wouldst thou leave us if thou couldst?” 

“Why ask the question, Sire ?” 

“Because thou resolutely avoidest me, and I need thy 
counsel.” 

“What counsel can I give thee, Sire, who am only a 
maid ?” 

“The friendship and sympathy of kindly speech and not 
avoidance,” he says flatly. 

“A humble maid is honored at thy friendship, Sire.” 

“Then, since thou art done with thy song, stroll on the 
river terrace, for I would converse with thee,” he says, wish- 
ing to question her. 

“With the Queen’s permission, Sire.” 

“I will obtain it. My lord of Norfolk, if thou art not too 
busy with Sir Thomas More, I would have thee bring thy 
niece, and perhaps her Majesty will let some of her maidens 
take the air on the terrace, for the room crowds one this 
sunny morning,” the King says aloud. 

“Yes, Sire. And maidens, do as his Highness and your 
inclinations wish,” the Queen says graciously. 


His Majesty’s Bold Declaration. 119 

The terrace overlooking the river is soon a scene of ani- 
mated life as the young maids and damsels take the air 
and stroll down to the “stairs” to meet many coming to 
court. 

The King soon joins Anne, and my lord of Norfolk finds 
he has business elsewhere and the other courtiers keep a dis- 
creet distance, so they are left together. 

“We will not talk any more of avoidance, sweet Anne, for 
I am determined more than ever to have your company,” 
the King says, that she may understand. 

“Sire, I will give you all that is maidenly and right al- 
ways.” 

“Then canst thou not allow me to break the harrier be- 
tween us and you become my dear friend?” the King 
says with a dangerous love-look in his eyes. 

“You make me afraid of you, Sire, when you talk like 
that.” 

“Why ? You would meet that young lord of Northumber- 
land alone.” 

“How know you that, Sire ?” she says, blushing crimson. 

“I can read it in your blushing face.” 

“You forget yourself, Sire, my father talks to me not that 
way.” 

“I wish he had, if it had hindered thy infatuation.” 

“Are you angered at the young lord, Sire ?” 

“Aye ! Indeed I am when he chooses thee for liis friend.” 

“Is it not natural for a young gallant to love, Sire ?” 

“Yes, but not thee.” 

“Why not, Sire?” 

“Because he is already affianced.” 

“But he loves not the one chosen for him.” 

“He should obey his father’s choice.” 

“That would be welding two contrary natures, which 
would be torture, Sire.” 

“Thou dost plead his cause well,” the King replies, 
amazed at her persistency. 

“He is kindly and winsome, Sire.” 

“Dost thou think so when he is forsworn to his father’s 
choice ?” 

“I could not be made to marry one I did not love,” Anne 
says strongly. 


120 By the King’s Command. 

“I believe thou couldst not. Thy step-mother says thou 
art wilful.” 

“Then she speaks honestly, Sire,” Anne replies quickly. 

“Couldst thou not learn to love me?” the King says 
boldly. 

“You are mad, Sire !” Anne says quickly, wishing to stop 
him. 

“Thou art plain, pretty one, but I mean it. I have chosen 
thee for my friend, and thy opposition coyly urges me on. 
I should have chosen no other had I long ago known thee, 
but destiny has placed me where I am.” 

“Thou art talking treason to her Highness.” 

“Ho, for I am to be divorced.” 

“Why talk of love, Sire?” 

“Because I need thy love.” 

“I may not give it.” 

“Thou wouldst if thou could?” he says, dangerously in 
earnest. 

“Nay, Sire.” 

“I will make you my queen when I am divorced.” 

“This is treason to the good Queen Katherine, Sire, and 
I may not listen to you.” 

“You think you will marry the young lord, but you will 
not, Anne, so mark what I say!” he says, with a strange 
meaning. 

Anne feels a little wilful, as' she thinks of the morrow, 
and says, “Would you forgive the young lord, Sire, if he 
did?” 

“If he does, I will forgive him !” the King says thought- 
fully. “But he will not. But will you forgive me, Anne, 
if I hinder him ?” he says, looking hardly at her and making 
her turn fiery red. 

“I know not, Sire,” is all that she can say. 

“Thou art not as fair as I. But, Anne, thou wilt never 
marry the young lord, for thou wilt marry Henry Tudor.” 

“Never, Sire ! Thou art indeed mad ! Thy infatuation 
carries thee away.” 

“Not infatuation, Anne, but calm sense; for I love thee 
as I never loved other.” 

“That I may not hear, Sire, so let us join the others, 


His Majesty’s Bold Declaration. 121 

as thou spoilest thyself and makest me unhappy and guilty 
when I am with the Queen.” 

“I cannot tell thee what I have a mind to here. Come 
with his Grace of Norfolk to my private audience room 
this evening, and there we will talk, as I would have thee 
understand matters.” 

“Before the Duke?” she says, thinking he will not. 

“Yes, before thy uncle. I mind not his knowing.” 

As Anne hesitates, the King pleads: “Will you not 
promise me? You will come, sweet Anne,” he says pas- 
sionately. 

“I dare not, Sire,” Anne says, afraid. 

“Then thou must,” the King says, not to be balked, 
“My lord of Norfolk, I would see thee a moment,” he calls 
to the Duke. 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“I wish to have a particular word in private this night 
with thy niece in my private audience room, and, as it is 
not maidenly, she thinks, to come alone, I would have you 
bring her.” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

Anne is glad to get away from the King, who is so 
persistent with her. She somehow feels a shame upon her 
as she joins the other courtiers, though they give her defer- 
ence as a favorite of the King ; but it is this deference that 
makes her ashamed. 

Later in the day the dwarf comes to her with a package 
from his Majesty. 

“What is this, Master Somers?” 

“Sweets for the sweet,” he says with a leer. 

“Who gave thee this for me?” she says sharply. 

“He who thinks it of thee.” 

“Then thou hast no message?” 

“Tenderer message gave I none, methinks.” 

“Thou art a riddle, Will.” 

“I will lend thee mine eyes, if thou wilt let me peep 
into thy package.” 

“Thou art inquisitive.” 

“I should be if I were thee,” he says, leaving her to 
w r onder what it is. It does not take her long to see, when 
she is startled at the sight of a beautiful locket of gold 


122 


By the King’s Command. 

set with rubies, and, on opening it, a miniature of his 
Majesty looks at her, painted by Master Holbein, his 
Majesty’s painter. It is a beautiful likeness of the King, 
and on the other side there is a little note. It reads : 

“I am bound to see thee, I am only happy as I do so. 
Thou wilt wear this, as I command thee to do so, for I would 
always be with thee. Until to-night, farewell. Henry.” 

Anne looks around to see if any hath seen her, as one 
guilty; then she puts it hastily in her pocket, ashamed to 
own his second gift that he has forced upon her. “ ‘I 
command you to wear it !’ That is not like Percy’s love !” 
she thinks. 

“How dare he command me this way? I will not obey 
any of his commands,” and Anne takes his bracelet off and 
puts it with the locket in her pocket. “I wish I could tell 
Percy ! No use to tell father, for he will only say, ‘Be 
discreet with his Majesty.’ Master Wyatt, I would talk 
to thee,” Anne calls to me, and tells me all. 

“I would not meet him, Anne,” I say, decidedly. 

“I dare not refuse with the Duke.” 

“I doubt thy safety with his Grace. I am not on duty, 
but I will change with Master Norris, that his Majesty 
shall not know the change, and thou shalt not be unpro- 
tected with his Highness, as he can be bold,” I say, as I 
understand his Highness, methinks ! 

“I thank thee, Master Wyatt,” Anne says gratefully. 

The night comes round, and, without any explanation, I 
am able to do as I thought, so that when Mistress Anne 
goes with his Grace of Norfolk to the King, I make the 
exchange and certainly keep close watch. 

“So thou hast come, Miss Prudence,” the King says, as 
she comes in with the Duke, a smile lighting up his face. 

“Norfolk, I have been telling thy niece that I am to 
be divorced from Queen Katherine; that our Chancellor 
has the matter in hand, and when his Holiness gives the 
decree, I am looking to thy sweet niece to set her on the 
throne with me. Mistress Boleyn acts afraid of me, and 
what think you about the matter?” 


123 


His Majesty’s Bold Declaration. 

“Sire, yon are giving ns both weighty confidence, and, 
for myself, I shall strive to merit same, and I believe my 
niece will. Bnt this is news to me, as only rnmors had 
reached me and I had not known matters had gone so far.” 

“They have, and now to the point. Do yon not think 
that Mistress Boleyn should devote herself, heart and soul, 
to me, and give me such comfort and counsel that she can, 
seeing that my life has been blighted and I need such, as 
I am thrown daily more and more alone from womanly 
sympathy ?” 

“I see no harm in her doing so, especially as thou art 
honoring the house of Norfolk with thy choice,” the Duke 
says, taken aback at the King’s confidence. 

“There, Mistress Anne. You treat my advances as if 
they were a guilty thing, and you see thy uncle, Norfolk, 
approves,” he says boldly. 

Astounded at the boldness of the King and the subtle 
way he has in stating his case, Anne scarcely knows how to 
reply, but she says: “There is one other to be convinced, 
Sire, if that one had the heart to do as you wished.” 

“And who is that one, Anne?” 

“Myself, Sire.” 

The King and the Duke look keenly at her, his Grace 
amazed at his niece’s courage, and seeing the King hath 
honored him greatly and that a great good only can come 
to him from the King’s declaration, he says : “Thou 
shouldest be discreet with thy tongue, Anne ; for all thy 
service at court, it seems to have failed in teaching thee 
that.” 

“I can convince her better alone and gently persuade her 
my way, my lord,” the King says, dismissing the Duke. 

Hearing their conversation, I open the door for the 
Duke, when Anne surprises me with her quickness. Be- 
fore the Duke can pass out, she is before him, and out the 
door as she says: “Excuse me to-night, Sire. I cannot let 
thee do an injustice to thyself,” and is away, and in her 
quickness nearly falls into the arms of the Queen. 

“Where hast thou been, Mistress Boleyn?” her Majesty 
says sharply, seeing she is coming from the direction of 
the King’s audience room. 


124 


By the King’s Command. 

Anne is nearly distracted at the way things are going, 
and she can only say : “You must ask his Majesty, madam,” 
and flees on to her father's apartments, determined in her 
soul now that she must go with Percy. 


La Homme Propose, Le Dieu Dispose. 125 


CHAPTER XVI. 

LA HOMME PROPOSE, LE DIEU DISPOSE. 

The evening has come for Percy and Anne’s flight. 

Things could not have turned out for them better, for 
they have a clear field as his Majesty has gone with the 
Duke of Suffolk and the Cardinal to Greenwich palace, 
and my lord of Shrewsbury has gone off with Percy’s father 
and the Lady Mary Talbot to Shrewsbury House, at Lon- 
don Bridge. 

I cannot help thinking what the feelings of the Lady 
Mary would be if she could come later to Percy’s wedding ! 
But there, I am sorry to have them go, for I see not how 
I can do without Percy, and I have not stopped to consider 
what will happen to me when it is all found out. But 
what does it matter, if they only are happy! But, oh! 
If she had only loved me ! 

Anne is eager now to go. Since last night she can see 
to what the King’s passion for her is drifting, and the pure 
love of Percy is not to be compared with it. She has 
handed to me the King’s gifts, with a letter of explanation 
to his Highness, which reads : 

“Sire : I beg to return the enclosed, that so humble an 
handmaid of thine cannot wear, hut who always prays for 
your Highness’ happiness. 

“Your Majesty’s humble handmaiden, 

“Anne Boleyn.” 

Percy will come from York Place and meet us at the 
“stairs” of the Blackfriars, and then we go together. No 
baggage of any kind (other than a bundle Percy has had 


126 


By the King’s Command. 

put aboard for Anne) will they take, so there has been no 
preparation of any kind to arouse suspicion. 

At the stairs Anne joins me in the same disguise that 
we went to the heresy trial, and, as I am already in the 
boat as an apprentice, with a slouch hat well down on 
my head and a large club between my legs, I look well 
enough to be waiting a maid and ready to crack a blow 
with any that should say me nay. 

That ugly dwarf has to come and poke his nose around 
where he is not wanted and throw kisses to Anne as he 
says : “Till we meet again ! Haste, haste, for the priest 
won’t wait!” And then he mounts the terrace and sits 
on the extreme edge of the corner of the terrace wall, where 
he can see us farthest, and doubles himself up with laughter 
at us, but he certainly doesn’t know us. 

“I would love to break his wry neck,” I say in anger, 
as I shake my club at him. 

“He is a most vindictive imp, and I am sometimes afraid 
of him,” Anne says. 

But here is Percy with two stout watermen, and we are 
glad that this far everything is turning out so well. “To 
the ‘Old Swan Stairs’ at London Bridge,” Percy says, as 
they step aboard, and we three sit in the back of the boat, 
Anne between us, as happy as can be with the man she 
loves, and the man I love, too, and the thought of our soon 
parting brings tears to my eyes, as I wish there were a 
place for me to go along, too, but there is not, and I must 
not be spoony, though I can scarcely help it. 

“It could not be managed better, Thomas. I owe thee 
much, brother of my heart.” 

“Don’t just now, as I cannot stand it,” is all I can say. 

“We have been drawing deeply on thy love, Thomas,” 
Anne says with feeling. 

“Thank you !” 

“We have been hitherto selfish in each other, and you 
must forgive us, but how we shall think of thee !” Anne 
says. 

“Please do not ! It unmans me ! I would die for you ! 
You must know it ! But the Bridge is before us, and we 
shall soon be there,” I say, smothering down my feelings 
as I look at Percy in his happiness, dressed so soberly, as 


La Homme Propose, Le Dieu Dispose. 127 

a merchant ready to voyage alone out into life; yet not 
alone, as he has the brightest and dearest maid in all the 
wide world to be with him, and I would accept any condi- 
tions if it were only I. 

The “Old Swan Inn Stairs” lands ns close to that fa- 
mous hostelry that shelters so many as they enter London 
across the bridge, and is approached by a lane or narrow 
street that leads ns np to it on the higher ground. 

“Only a little further, love, and then, come what will, 
they can never truly separate us,” Percy whispers to Anne. 

“I am perfectly content,” she whispers back, and she 
walks close to him, and I bring up the rear. 

All at once from two cross side streets that run parallel 
with the river there come two armed parties, one, of the 
City Watch, and the other of the Tower Guardsmen, 
headed by his Grace of Suffolk. 

We do not realize that so formidable a host is intended 
for us before we are surrounded, and Percy calls sharply, 
“Draw, Thomas ! Or, back and escape with her !” 

Percy’s short sword is out on the instant as he says: 
“Ah ! It is vou, my lord !” and makes for the Duke of 
Suffolk. 

“I arrest you in the name of the King !” the Duke says, 
defending himself. 

“Kot so easy! A Percy! A Percy!” and his cloak is 
unloosed and wrapped around his left arm, and his back is 
to the wall, and he disables three of the City Watch before 
he is overpowered, and he would not be then, only he sees 
Anne being taken by the yeomen of the Tower, despite my 
efforts with the club, that I am not so dextrous at handling 
as my sword, though I do lay one man in the dust before 
I am overpowered. 

“My God, what does this mean ?” Percy says desperately. 

“That you take the Queen’s ward back to the palace, 
Master Wyatt, and place her in her father’s care, with 
this letter of his Majesty, the King,” the Duke says, and 
we know we are betrayed. 

“Has Father Clement been arrested?” 

“He is at Shrewsbury House, your Grace,” the Captain 
of the City Watch replies. 

“Captain, you will accompany Master Wyatt, and after 


128 


By the King’s Command. 

he has. performed his Highness 5 bidding, he is nnder 
arrest and in yonr charge / 5 the Duke says to the Captain 
of the Tower Guardsmen. 

“Fall in, Captain, with your prisoner ! 55 the Duke says to 
the “Watch , 55 “and follow me . 55 

And so we are taken different ways. 

Percy is taken to Shrewsbury House, the home of the 
Lady Mary Talbot. Here he finds the Earl of Shrewsbury 
entertaining his Majesty, the Cardinal, and Percy’s father, 
the Earl of Northumberland. 

It is beyond telling the pain and agony of rage that 
looks out of Percy’s eyes at the King, who meets his look 
with tigerish cruelty, as one dallying with his prey. 

“Why, my lord of Suffolk, what have we here ?” the King 
says. 

“We found this young lord with Master. Wyatt and a 
young lady, and, as they were all disguised, Sire, and far 
from the palace of Bridewell, upon their drawing their 
weapons on us in response to our enquiry, we arrested 
them . 55 

“And the young maid?” 

“Mistress 55 

“Nay, no names !” his Majesty says, quickly, looking 
round on all. “Her name must never be mentioned !” 

“The maiden, under escort of Master Wyatt and the 
Captain of the Tower Guardsmen and his men, Sire, have 
returned to Bridewell Palace, to her father.” 

“That is well. And now, perhaps your young ward can 
give us an account of this night’s work,” the King says 
to the Cardinal, hardly. 

“I assure you, Sire, I knew nothing of this night’s work.” 

“It is well you did not. But you see what this desperate 
cockerell can come to with your pettings, and where dis- 
obedience leads him.” 

“My lord Earl, what hast thou to say in this matter?” 
the King says to the grizzled Northern warrior, Percy ; s 
father. 

“I feel disgraced before your Highness, and ashamed 
to own him a Northumberland,” the warrior says grimly. 

“Is he not betrothed to thy daughter, my lord of Shrews- 


La Homme Propose, Le Dieu Dispose. 129 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“You two fathers are both agreed in the matter?” 

“It has been ratified since their childhood, Sire,” the 
Earl of Northumberland replies. 

“And I know there is no more beautiful maiden in the 
world than the Lady Mary, and what hast thou to say 
against her?” the King says to Percy. 

“Nothing, Sire!” Percy gasps out. 

“Then what dost thou mean with thy wilful disobedience 
of thy father’s will and to my express commands?” 

“This, Sire. Before the heavenly Jesu I am truly soul 
bound to Mistress Boleyn, whom you have had forced from 
me, and we are troth-plight to each other truly, even 
though you have forced us apart,” Percy says boldly. 

“Thou art bold and pert with thy wilfulness, and an- 
swerest as if thy personal consideration is before all else 
and we shall have to teach you a lesson,” the King says, 
his eyes fairly blazing. 

Percy looks at the Cardinal as if he would have him 
intercede for him, but his Eminence is surprised and in the 
dark concerning it all, and can only see the King cruel in 
what he is about to do, and waits events with a discreet 
silence. 

“Bring in that Carthusian,” the King says to the Duke. 

Father Clement is brought in and the King says to 
him sternly: “What explanation hast thou to give for thy 
conduct. Sir Priest?” 

“I was invited to call at the twilight hour, your Highness, 
at the ‘Old Swan Inn/ to marry man and maid. He who 
invited me was a priest of our order, to do this service for 
him, and as all was regular, I had no scruples in coming 
to do mine office, Sire.” 

“Whom didst thou act for, sirrah?” 

“That I may not say, Sire, as that was part of my condi- 
tion.” 

“I would make him. Sire; these priests are a deal too 
bold,” the Duke whispers in the King‘s ear. 

“Dost know thou art speaking to the King?” 

“Yes, Sire, but my vows are made to the King of Kings,” 
the priest dares to say. 

“Then keep to thy vows and duty, and thou shalt earn 


130 


By the King’s Command. 

tliy forgiveness by performing a duty for me here and now, 
•for, since thou hast come so far to marry this young man, 
it were a pity to disappoint him, and so we will have a 
wedding that shall forever settle this disobedient young- 
ster’s running away with other than his father’s choice.” 

Percy can see to what fiendish cruelty the King will go 
with him in wedding him to a loveless life, a living death. 
As the fuller sense of the matter comes to him, he grows 
wild with anger, and saying “I will die first, you coward !” 
rushes at the King. 

The Earl of Northumberland fortunately is between 
him and his Majesty, and catches him ere he can reach his 
object and hurls him back with, “Art treasonous to his 
Majesty? I would slay thee myself,” and Percy is seized 
and held. 

“Thou canst see this cub’s obedience ! Here, my lord 
Shrewsbury, have in thy daughter and let this forsworn 
cur tell his affianced his hatred of her if he so wills, but 
married they shall be.” 

“And now, Sir Priest, get thee to thy office, and with 
some dispatch,” the King says to Father Clement. 

None have the courage to thwart the King in his will, 
if they are ever so inclined, as they can see to what a 
secret cruelty he has planned this revenge. But Father 
Clement says boldly: “Sire, I may not do this thing so 
contrary to righteous law, and I beg you forgive my re- 
fusal at a matter so cruel,” and he drops upon his knees in 
pleading to the King. 

White with heat and passion, the King roars out : “Thou 
— refuse — me ? Thou dog, get thee to thy duty !” 

“Then another than an humble priest must take the 
responsibility on his shoulders, Sire !” 

“Here is his Holiness’ representative, sirrah ! Order him 
to his duty, Wolsey !” his Majesty fairly roars at the Cardi- 
nal. 

Percy looks from one to the other. He sees that upon 
the word of the man he has learned to love and reverence 
before all other, his fate hangs, and he looks at the Cardi- 
nal with an appealing look. 

The Cardinal understands that look and is about to plead 
with his Majesty when the King shouts : “Art traitorous. 


La Homme Propose, Le Dieu Dispose. 131 

too? My lord of Suffolk, it is well thou art supported 
with arms, as we are unmasking some.” 

“I beg your Highness’ pardon !” the Cardinal says with 
alacrity, as he sees it impossible to stay the tempest of the 
King’s wrath. “Get thee quickly to thy duty and not fur- 
ther anger his Highness !” he says to the priest. 

The priest obeys the Cardinal and prepares himself, and 
the Lady Mary’s father goes to fetch his daughter. 

The Lady Mary knows nothing of the matter that has 
been occurring, and she comes in, looking beautiful, for she 
has been assisting her father entertain the King. 

His Majesty goes to meet her with a more subdued look 
than recently, as he says, “Lady Mary, I have always prom- 
ised thee to be at thy wedding, and the man of thy choice 
is here and I wish he were as good in my opinion as thou 
art. And to-night I have come to thy marriage and the 
priest is here to unite thee, and the Cardinal to bless thee,” 
and his Majesty leads her forward. 

Two cushions are placed before them and the priest takes 
his place. The Lady Mary looks quickly at Percy, whom 
she has secretly loved all her life, as he stands with her in 
his sober dress and with his bloodless face, and wonders 
what it all means. Has some good fortune by the heavenly 
Christ’s grace at last given her her soul’s desire? 

There is no time for questioning, as Father Clement 
stands before them. 

“Wilt thou take Lady Mary Talbot here present for thy 
lawful wife, according to the rite of our holy mother, the 
Church ?” and the bloodless lips of Percy respond not. 

“Wilt thou take Lord Henry Percy, of Northumberland, 
for thy lawful husband, according to the rites of our holy 
mother, the Church ?” and the Lady Mary responds audibly, 
“I will,” though with a trembling accent, as a fear of some- 
thing unknown descends upon her. 

Father Clement stoops over and takes Percy’s hand, and 
joins it with the Lady Mary’s, holding them together under 
his stole, as he says: “I join you together in matrimony in 
the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
Ghost. Amen.” Then he sprinkles them with holy water. 

Looking at Percy he asks for the marriage ring, but re- 
ceives no reply. 


132 


By the King’s Command. 

Taking a diamond ring from his finger, the King hands 
it to the priest, who offers it to Percy to place upon his 
bride’s hand. He sees it not ! Considerately, Father 
Clememt places it npon the hand of the bride. A few words 
of exhortation follow and then he steps aside for the Cardi- 
nal to give them his blessing. 

His Eminence comes forward, as his Majesty has bade 
him, but this is too much — more than Percy’s overwrought 
manhood can stand. He has grasped the awful thing they 
have done to him ! The cowardice of the man that he has 
called before his father, that sacred name, who has not 
raised his voice in his defense, but consigned him to a 
living death ! 

And so, when his Eminence raises his hands in blessing 
above them, Percy lifts his face to his Grace and his blood- 
less lips cry out: “Oh heavenly Jesu! How can you?” 
and his hands beat back the blessing and his life’s blood 
spurts out from between his lips and he falls down before 
them all. 

“Oh God ! You have killed him ! You have killed him !” 
Lady Mary screams, and drops upon her knees beside her 
husband and takes his bloody head upon her lap and wipes 
his face with her kerchief. 

This is more than his Majesty had expected, and he 
hastens away with the Duke to Bridewell. 

The King gone, the Cardinal kneels beside his adopted 
son, and with tears running down his face, takes holy water 
and bathes it to restore him to life, realizing that the holy 
drops with their holy office will not be able to wash away 
from the memory of his “boy” the cruelty he has done him. 

“Oh, Percy ! My son ! My son ! I have killed thy love 
for me out of thy soul and I so sorely need it !” he cries, 
agonized. 


Hever Castle and Farewells. 


133 


CHAPTEE XVII. 

HEVER CASTLE AND FAREWELLS. 

It is a pitiable story I now have to relate, and I have 
little heart to do it. His Majesty evidently likes my 
service, or personal handling of him, for he orders my 
release, and little is said about my part in the transaction. 
But I am curious to know what he has done with Percy. 

I am not long kept in doubt, as you will soon see. 

We are assembled in the Queen’s antechamber the next 
morning, all of us; for there is a greater gathering than 
usual, both of the younger set and also of the many cour- 
tiers that throng the court. Anne also is there, and shows 
no sign of yesterday’s adventure, though she acts timidly 
and keeps very near Queen Katherine. Her father and 
Lady Boleyn are in attendance, and if they know aught 
of Anne’s flight, it is certainly hushed up, for there is 
but very little whispering going on and the King’s com- 
mands are being rigorously kept. 

His Majesty comes in early, and is extremely gracious 
to the Queen, kissing her good morning, so feeding a 
crumb to her poor starved heart, that gives so much and 
gets so little. But then she is the most amiable and gently 
sweet lady that ever lived. 

His Majesty soon selects the company where Anne is 
busy embroidering, and says, “Thou art an expert with thy 
fingers.” 

“Yes, Sire,” Anne says without looking up. 

“Thou art demure this sunny morning, Mistress Anne.” 

“I beg your Highness’ pardon,” and Anne drops her 
work and rises. 


134 


By the King’s Command. 

“You are very reserved. Hast forgiven me what hap- 
pened yesterday?” 

Anne is curious to know, yet her part in the matter 
makes her ashamed before the King, and so she says, “I 
know very little, Sire, of what you allude to.” 

“Then I will not tell thee, Anne. But I have some- 
thing to do which will please thee, I am sure,” and calling 
to the Queen, he says, “Come, Kate, I have a matter to 
perform that thou mayest assist me in.” 

“I shall be pleased, Sire,” and the Queen comes to him. 

“Sir Thomas Boleyn, I would see thee. And my Lord 
Cardinal, and you my Lords of Suffolk and Norfolk, come 
here, with the lords and ladies in attendance,” the King 
says. 

All gather round their Majesties, when his Majesty says 
to Sir Thomas Boleyn, “Sir Thomas, you have always been 
a trusty and valiant knight, and deserving our favor. I 
have an important commission to the King of France that 
I would presently entrust to thee. And so that thou 
mayest represent us fitly, I would add to thy dignity by 
creating thee a Viscount of our realm. Kneel down, Sir 
Thomas.” 

Utterly surprised and pleased, Sir Thomas kneels be- 
fore the King, when his Majesty takes from the Duke of 
Suffolk his sword, and, smartly rapping his shoulder with 
it, says, “I create thee Visconnt Bochford. So rise, my 
lord Viscount, and later our Chancellor and myself wiil 
acquaint thee with the import of thy commission.” 

His Majesty looks at Anne, and as she catches his eyes, 
he can see that she is pleased and is about to address her, 
when her Majesty says, “Where is the Lady Mary Talbot ? 
I miss her reading this morning.” 

“I know not, Kate, but perhaps the Chancellor will tell 
you, for I think he has not long come from where she is.” 

Wolsev has come to Bridewell direct from Shrewsbury 
House this morning, and being appealed to, he replies, 
“Madam, the Lady Mary Talbot was married last night, 
by his Highness’ commands, to the young Lord Percy of 
Northumberland, and as her husband was taken suddenly 
ill, the Lady Mary Percy is attending him.” 

Consternation is upon every face, which is changed to 


Hever Castle and Farewells. 


135 


alarm, for Mistress Boleyn places her hands to her throat 
as if choking, and, giving an awful cry, falls swooning at 
the Queen’s feet. 

All is alarm in an instant, his Majesty calling, “Where 
is Dr. Butts? Why is not Dr. Butts here?” while her 
Majesty is womanly solicitous and cares kindly for Anne, 
as she understands the King’s infatuation, but believes not, 
I am sure, that Anne is to blame. 

I assist Dr. Butts in carrying Anne to her father’s 
apartments, and I can see that the King hath sorely 
wounded a loving heart almost to death, for it is some 
weeks before she can be removed from Bridewell to Hever 
Castle, to be away alone, to be brought back again to life. 

And Percy ? I wept when I first saw him ! Changed 
to such stern gravity, his bleached out face and gaunt 
form, so lean, so thin, when he rose up to meet me, he 
looked dreadful in his tallness, as he held his arms wide 
open, and I folded him to my heart, and then his pent up 
powers gave way, and he sobbed out, “How is she, Thomas ? 
How is my darling?” and I can see the wealth and weight 
of his grand soul’s exposure is all for her forever. 

“Let me talk about thee, my brother. Thou art ill !” 

“I care nothing for myself, tell me of her,” he says, 
hoarsely, almost fiercely, looking at me intently. 

“It will make thee worse,” I say. 

“Is she dead ? Oh, God ! Did it kill her ?” he says, 
looking horrified at me. 

“Kay. But she is ill, very ill !” 

“Then I must see her. I must go to her,” he says, pas- 
sionately. 

“Madness, Percy ! They would not let you ! Impos- 
sible ! That would ruin all and land you in the Tower.” 

“Tell me all, Thomas ! Hide nothing from me ! My 
madness shall be checked to do her good ! We will thwart 
them yet ! We will try again, and so secretly that none 
shall know our marriage till it is accomplished.” 

I see his mind and purpose, and can only say, “Dost 
thou disown thy marriage?” 

“Why ask ? I gave no consent ! The Lady Mary Talbot 
hath ministered to me kindly, and I have told her all, and 
she understands and will return to Queen Katherine; but 


136 


By the King’s Command. 

she knows it is hopeless to look for love from me, for 
the thought of it fills me with aversion, as I love only my 
dear Anne.” 

And I tell him all. And he sits and drinks it in and it 
almost slays him, when I tell him of the awful tragedy. 

“May God curse the inhumian monster! ISTo good will 
ever come to him, for the holy Christ will thwart him, the 
fiend ! Poor love ! My little love ! We will be married 
yet ! My trouble is nothing to thine ! I have suffered 
nothing to thee !” he rambles on as I tell him. 

“Thomas, I will write to her !” he says, with a brighter 
look. “And I know we can plan to see each other, for 
when did love fail?” 

And so he does, and I find myself one day riding with 
letters from his Majesty to Anne, and one from Lady 
Mary and one from Percy, and I wonder how will she 
receive them and I wish I could pick up the threads of this 
tangle and fly away with her myself, for my heart is riven 
and sore for them all ; but most of all for its own desolate- 
ness that she could so happily fill. 

I am thinking this as I ride along, and come in sight 
of Hever Castle. It is a noble looking place, semi-castle 
and house combined, that sits up prominently on rising 
ground, surrounded by a beautiful park, stocked with 
lordly trees, twenty-five miles slightly southwest of his 
Majesty’s palace at Greenwich. 

I am heartily welcomed by Lady Boleyn, who, when she 
hears that I carry a package from his Highness, is eager 
that Anne shall receive it. And I am afraid that Lady 
Boleyn favors his Highness’ attentions. 

I am shocked when I see her, so changed has she become, 
she looks so frail. Her face is lustrously beautiful, 
ethereally so, it is so white and transparent ; her eyes look 
extra large in their languor, framed in their ivory setting, 
and her abundant rich dark brown hair falls about her, 
and as the sunlight plays upon it, it looks as if stranded 
with gold. 

My heart leaps to my eyes as I look at her, and I kneel 
at her feet with tenderest pity, for she looks like a being 
of another world, and I could worship her! (May the 
holy Mother forgive me!) 


Hever Castle and Farewells. 


137 


“Thomas Wyatt ! I am glad to see thee !” and she gives 
me her hand, which I kiss reverently and I cannot say any- 
thing, as my heart is bleeding for her I love so dearly. 

“Hast brought me news ?” 

“I have letters for thee,” and I hand her three packages. 

Lady Boleyn goes out and leaves us together, and Anne 
says, “Stay beside me, Thomas, for I may need thee, and 
I have little hidden from thee.” 

Eagerly she opens Percy’s and reads : 

“My darling little Anne, I love thee ! Oh, I love thee ! 
Hone but thee ! Hever any but thee ! I am thine, thine 
before God forever! My heart yearns for thee! Cursed 
be he that hath crucified us ! The holy J esu curse him ! 
I must see thee, for thou art sick ! Tell Thomas when and 
where to come ! All heaven bless thee, my love, my dear 
love ! Percy.” 

“Pity me, Thomas. What shall I do ? I must see him. 
Is he sick ? He says naught of himself.” 

“I would see him, Anne, he so eagerly desires it. But 
read all and see what is before thee, and then you can 
reply.” _ 

Opening the next, written in a thin, scrawling lady’s 
hand, she reads : 

“Dear Mistress Boleyn : I send thee this, praying for 
thy health and welfare. I wish thee to know that I am 
innocent in being married to thy lord, for I knew naught 
of it till before the priest, by the King's command. In 
sorrow and tears I tell thee before God I would do thee 
no wrong; so in thy sorrow pity me, who am most un- 
happily wedded to one who tells me he loves me not, but 
thee. Mary Talbot Percy.” 

Torrents of tears pour down the face of poor Anne, as 
she learns what the command of the King hath done for 
her. When she fell swooning at the Queen’s feet she only 
knew part, the little that the Cardinal said, and her father 
and Lady Boleyn will only tell her that the two Earls 
hath insisted on the marriage of Percy with the Lady 
Mary. She feels so weak as almost to alarm me, as she 


138 


By the King’s Command. 

wails, “So noble and brave, Thomas! So knightly and 
true ! So good and gentle !” and she thinks of the perfidy 
of him who offers her his unclean soul and calls it love ! 

“Here is the last, Anne,” I say, offering her the King’s 
package. 

She opens it with some sparkle in her eye, as expecting 
its contents, and the blood comes to her white cheeks as she 
reads : 

“Sweet Mistress Anne: I commend me nnto thee, 
and wish thee well. Dr. Butts reports thee mending, 
which pleaseth me. Make haste and come back to us, for 
we miss thy face and voice that sings so sweetly, and also 
thine eyes that are brighter than these jewels that I wish 
thou wouldst wear. Henry.” 

The jewel is a beautifully chased locket of gold with 
the King’s initials in diamonds, that Anne flings on the 
floor in her scorn, and lets his Majesty’s letter fall after 
it, which I am pleased to see. 

“I am leaving for France, Thomas ; I go with my father.” 

“What will the King say?” 

“I have not asked him:. I am going without doing so,” 
she says, resolutely. 

“But will he not try to hinder thee? Will it not bring 
trouble to the Viscount?” 

“I know not, but my father has listened to my plead- 
ings, and will take me.” 

“I am so glad,” and I am indeed, for this is best. 

“Thou hast a long journey back, and I will write some 
letters, if you will lift my secretaire to me,” she says. 

I do so, and she writes : 

“To the Lord Henry Percy : Greeting to thee with 
my broken heart, and with much sorrow I received thy 
letter. In two or three days I leave with my father for 
France. The day after to-morrow I will be at the little 
postern door, on the old side of the castle opposite the 
gate, thou knowest it, at one hour before midnight. Have 
with thee Master Wyatt. I love thee truly, and thou 
knowest it, and I have to learn not to do so ! Woe is me ! 

“Anne.” 


Hever Castle and Farewells. 


139 


“This is all, Thomas. I have no strength or inclination 
for more, and I shall see thee again.” 

“No letter for his Majesty? What message shall I give 
him ?” 

“Say what thou pleasest, I have none,” she says, with 
bitter scorn. 

And so I leave her, and so I take her letter to Percy, 
and changing places with Master Norris, in attendance on 
the King, I am able to go with Percy to bid Anne farewell. 

It is a hard journey for Percy, but if it were through fire 
itself, he would go, I am sure. 

Two miles from the Castle we rest our horses and I hire 
a lodging, not knowing what will happen to Percy in his 
enfeebled condition, and though it is a long time yet till 
midnight, as soon as it is dusk he will press on, “For 
Thomas, suppose she should come and go before we ar- 
rived?” he says. 

“She would wait, Percy, for she is as eager to see thee 
as thou art to see her.” 

“The heavenly Jesu bless her.” 

We tie our horses in the forest, and Percy goes to the 
Castle and watches, while I sit a little way away, to let 
him meet his love alone. 

Up and down, up and down he strides, his soul in tor- 
ment ; for that sentence in her letter bothers him, “I have 
to learn not to love thee! Woe is me!” 

“What can she mean? What can she mean? She can- 
not mean that mockery of a marriage she acknowledges 
as binding upon me, and forever putting me away from 
her? Oh, great and good God, what will become of me if 
that is so?” And in his weak state he kneels upon the 
ground, and the sweat pours from him in his agony. Then 
up he gets, and up and down, up and down he goes, on this 
agonizing sentinel's duty ! Then he listens at the postern, 
but all is still, for in these quiet times there is only one 
solitary man at arms doing duty inside, and he would have 
to be awakened. 

“How shall I persuade her differently? Will she come? 
Has Thomas mistaken the time? The night? Going 
away! What shall I do without her? Can I not accom- 
pany them?” Hark! Is that a sound? A grating in the 


140 


By the King’s Command. 

lock? A turn of the bolt? — and — she is in his arms — the 
very ghost of herself — her head is upon his breast, and his 
tears are falling upon her ! 

“Percy ! My dear lord ! My dear husband, married to 
another!” she sobs in her agony. 

“Hush ! I am only thine ! Only thine, Anne ! We will 
be married yet ! I will go with thee, follow thee to France ! 
We can be married there !” 

She can see where he would go, overriding all bounds; 
breaking all laws, and she can only say, “Percy, I dare 
not go with thee, for thou art wed !” 

“Dost thou say so? Canst think it so? Oh, Jesu, I 
had better died than lived, for I struggled only to live 
for this!” 

“Thou hast been very ill,” she says through ter tears. 

“Thou dost slay me, Anne, if thou castest me off!” 

“I love thee, dear heart, but thou art wed; and me to 
wed thee would bring us to bitter shame and confusion be- 
fore God and man ; nay, it cannot be !” 

With a great cry he falls at her feet and pleads, pleads 
the righteousness of his single love, his only love, his true 
love to her and her only, “I have only you, Anne ! To say 
me nay condemlns me to solitude all my days! True love 
never did such a thing! Thou art my wife in soul, as 
much as if any priest wedded us at altar.” 

“Thomas, Thomas, come to me,” Anne calls, and I 
hasten to her. “Convince my lord that I am right! I 
am very ill and have no strength left ! I doubt if I can 
get to my chamber!” she cries in desperation and nearly 
swooning. 

Recalled to his better self, Percy is all solicitation for 
her, so tender and loving is he, and Anne says, “Thomas, 
in three days* time place these on his Majesty’s table for 
him to have,” and she gives me a package, which I know 
to be his returned gifts, which he has persecuted her with. 

“Percy, dear lord, farewell ! Give this to thy wife, if 
thou dost so desire, after reading same !” and she puts in 
his doublet a little note. “How I shall think of thee! 
My soul is truly thine, for I can never love another! Oh, 
dear heart, farewell !” and she nearly swoons on his breast. 

“My God, Percy, we must not kill her !” I say, in alarm. 


Hever Castle and Farewells. 


141 


He kisses her again and again, then carries her to the 
little postern door, opens it, and would have shut it on 
her, but she says, “Thomas, farewell to thee ! When I 
return I shall find two loving hearts to see me,” and she 
kisses me farewell and is gone, and we hear the key turned 
in the lock. Oh 3 God ! Oh, God ! 

Down upon the postern step Percy kneels, and calls 
her ; and weeps and calls her, as if it is her grave, and there 
the gray streaks of daylight find him, until I have almost 
to drag him away. 

At the Inn, in the morning’s light, he takes out Anne’s 
letter and reads it. 

“To Lady Mary Percy : Our destiny is hard, thy lord’s, 
thine and mine. In our sorrow we all three weep. I can 
only ever think good of thee. Be kind and good to thy 
lord, and may heaven be kind to us all. 

“Anne Boleyn.” 

In three days’ time the Viscount’s party is seen travelling 
on the Dover road to embark for France. The King of 
France hath returned from his captivity with the Emperor, 
and the court hath assembled again with renewed splendor. 

Later the Viscount Bochford secures for Anne service 
with the lovely Queen Margaret of Navarre, sister to King 
Francis, and here we must leave her for the present. 


142 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

HOME AGAIN IN MERRIE ENGLAND. 

Nearly two years have slipped away ! 

His Majesty’s love hath not cooled for the beautiful maid 
that ran away with her father to France, and, although 
he was very angry with the Viscount, yet he has let the 
matter pass for a while. It is certain that his love towards 
Queen Katherine hath not increased any, for his conscience 
is troubling him about the divorce, and the Cardinal is 
catching it sorely, but we think it is more on the order 
of having Anne return. 

Anne is beautiful ! In sunny France the roses have re- 
turned to her cheeks, the sparkle to her eyes and the wit 
to her soul. She has had time for reflection, and to weigh 
love by reflection is a bad thing, especially if the one is 
hopelessly severed from its object. 

Anne has received notes from Percy, and answered them 
discreetly, for she has to realize that Percy is dead to her 
possession, and the soul gets lonely ! And what then ? 

Epistles, couched in the tenderest language, come to her 
frequently from the King, and she is obliged to answer them 
politely. Some of his letters are accompanied with jewels 
of great value, which she has been given to understand must 
not be returned. All these things make her think, and it 
is dangerous to he constantly thinking about a man’s de- 
clared love, for it grows on one! 

Eecently she hath received letters for her to come home, 
from her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, and she understands 
it is from the King ; and then her father commands her to 
come, and not complying, his Majesty hath sent an escort 
to bring her, as he is all impatience to see her. And so she 


Home Again in Merrie England. 143 

has to say good-bye to the good Queen of Navarre (who, 
by the way, has been affected by reading the gospels) and 
returns home. 

His Majesty has been casting in his mind what will 
please her, and has had the Cardinal pronounce for the 
Viscount in the Wiltshire estates, and so he has become 
Earl of Wiltshire, while George Boleyn he has created 
Viscount Rochford. 

George has married a lady of an ambitious temperament 
who is not very well liked by the family, and who lives 
only for her own ambition. Master William Carey, Mary 
Boleyn’s husband, the King has appointed a gentleman of 
the privy chamber, so that in the advancement of her family 
she has become the “Lady Anne,” which certainly pleases 
her. 

It is in the Spring of 1528 that the Countess of Wilt- 
shire and the Lady Anne are walking in the beautiful 
grounds that surround Hever Castle. The air is laden 
with the scent of violets and primroses, that are every- 
where seen in the license of their wild growth among the 
shrubbery and growing in great patches in prodigal luxuri- 
ousness. 

A fox starts across their path and stops to look at these 
intruders of his haunts, then trots leisurely away into 
cover to prey upon the game that the woods abound in. 

A solitary horseman is seen riding in the distance that 
causes the Countess to say, “What if it should be his 
Majesty, Anne?” 

“Then I should haste to the Castle and be indisposed.” 

“You would not treat his Highness so,” the Countess 
says, alarmed. 

“Indeed I would, but it is not the King, but Master 
Wyatt,” she says as I ride up to them. “I am glad to see 
thee, Thomas Wyatt.” 

How good it sounds again ! How sweet she looks ! “I 
am pleased to see thee !” I say with hearty feelings, and, 
as I look at her, how altered she is from the day we bade 
her farewell. 

“I have a letter for thee, Lady Anne,” I say, and watch 
to see how she will receive the King’s message. 

She takes it indifferently and opens it without concern, 


144 


By the King’s Command. 

but reddens as she reads the same and says : “The King is 
to follow thee, Master Wyatt, this afternoon! Then, in- 
deed, I am indisposed! I felt a pain coming on me this 
morning and it is sharp now and I must to my chamber for 
the remainder of the day.” 

“Anne, thou wilt not be so foolishly wilful,” the Countess 
says. 

“Then that I will be, for I want not to see his Highness.” 

“Why not, my little Anne?” the Earl says, coming up 
and greeting me. “His Majesty is coming to invite thee 
back to court.” 

“I want not to go. We are so content here. I dread re- 
turning to where I was made so sorrowful.” 

“Tut, tut, Anne. That is all in the past.” 

“But I cannot see what his Majesty wants to pester me 
for.” 

“He is to be divorced, and honors thee with his notice.” 

“The notice of a man twenty years married !” she says 
with scorn. 

“He is the King,” Lady Boleyn says with some sharpness. 

“I am not flattered if he were twenty kings in one, 
under such circumstances.” 

“Little Anne, little Anne, thou art quick with thy tongue, 
and I fear it will some day get thee into trouble,” the Earl 
says gently. 

“Whether or no, I will not see his Highness. And so 
come, Master Wyatt, for I would have a talk with thee,” 
she says, as she leads the way to the castle. I am 
pleased to go with her and expect every moment for her to 
enquire about Percy, but she does not, but talks of all 
others. But then she may be shy about the matter, but 
she ought not to be about him ! And I say to her : “Lady 
Anne, you ask not after one we both very much love !” 

“Lord Percy? Is he well? I shall be pleased to see 
him.” She says it with such apparent diffidence that I am 
startled, for I cannot understand such a change in human 
nature. 

“You are surprised at me, Thomas?” she says, looking at 
me strangely, I think. 

“Perhaps I do not understand you.” 

“Yes, you do. And I have been schooling my heart these 


Home Again in Merrie England. 145 

two years to learn not to love any one! My love is broken 
and dead, and two years of iife with a hopeless fate is 
schooling me to what my father calls wilfulness.” 

“You are not talking like your beautiful former self, 
though you are surpassingly beautiful, but your lovers are 
unchanged, Anne,” I say, taking her hand, for I cannot 
help it, and my soul is in my eyes as I look into hers, and 
I kneel at her feet as the most godlike love in the world ! 
“Oh, Anne, I could sacrifice Paradise for thee !” 

“Foolish, romantic Thomas ! I always liked thee ! Truly 
I value thy devotion ! Thou art too valuable to me as a 
friend. I could not have thee as a lover. Thou hast been 
all thy life my brother from babyhood and I could not like 
thee differently than I do now,” she says earnestly. 

“Anne, Anne ! I ” 

“No more, Thomas! I cannot have thee spoil thyself, 
and I value what I know I have till death,” she says. 

“Till death! Aye, Anne, beyond! When p in Paradise 
this muddle will be cleared up,” I can scarcely say, for 
my heart is all but bursting. 

“Tell me about Percy,” she says, and I see she is not 
heartless, with her broken life. 

“He is well. He grieves for thee daily. The King hath 
retained him as one of his gentlemen !” 

“And he hath consented? You amaze me, Thomas!” 

“It is to be near thee! Oh, Anne, you know not the 
value of that noble heart ! He would wade through fire to 
serve you. And he says if he may not have you he may, 
and will protect you ; for he would serve the very devil him- 
self to be near you.” 

“Ah ! He has a rare love ! But you know I may not 
think about it ! Yet I never knew what love was until he 
drew my heart from me; and now he is beyond me. 
Thomas, I am incapable of loving, and it takes all my wit; 
to be civil to all the fools that offer me their shallow 
selves.” 

“Thou art cruel !” I cannot but help saying in my pain, 
for I feel cut to the quick. 

“I mean not thee, Thomas. I have told thee how I think 
of thee ; it is beyond that which is common, or I would not 
be talking to thee as sister to brother,” she says. As her face 


146 


By the King’s Command. 

lights up she sees how I have wrongly understood her. 
A long blast from a bugle horn appraises ns that some one 
is coming to the castle, and brings ns both to the casement. 
It is the King, accompanied by Master Anthony Brown. 
His Majesty rides gallantly, as if assured of his welcome; 
and comes galloping bravely, as if he expected the Lady 
Anne to be at the Castle entrance to receive him. 

The Earl and Countess are already there, and the Earl 
holds his Majesty’s stirrup for him to dismount, but his 
Majesty leaps from the saddle like a hoy; and one can see 
he is disappointed as he passes into the Castle. 

I watch the effect of it all on Anne, but she is hard to 
understand, for beyond a curl of the lip she shows no sign 
whether she is pleased or sorry. 

The Countess soon comes to her with a little note and a 
package. On opening same it contains a costly necklace 
of strings of pearls, which the Countess goes in raptures 
over. The note reads: 

“To the Lady Anne Boleyn : 

“Please let us be friends. Henry/’ 

“His Majesty is all anxiety for thee. He would have Dr. 
Butts attend thee when I told him you were indisposed, but 
I assured him it was not necessary. He even offered to ride 
back himself and get Dr. Butts, but the Earl would not 
hear of it. Was there ever greater honor shown a maid 
than the King should become her messenger ! I am afraid 
thou art not treating his Majesty civilly,” the Countess 
rattles on, and I can see she is a poor adviser for Anne. 

I join his Majesty with the Countess, and he is disap- 
pointed at not seeing Anne, and I soon leave with him for 
Greenwich; after he has left his commands with the Earl 
that they shall all resume their places at court, and that 
to-morrow, if the Lady Anne be well enough, she shall 
travel with an escort that he will send to conduct her 
thither. 

From her casement the Lady Anne sees the King ride 
away, and it makes her reflect. “He certainly is superb in 
his majesty ! If he were not married ! Time does not 
seem to break his constancy! Can he really and disin- 


Home Again in Merrie England. 147 

terestedly love me? But then he has been familiar with 
many ! That spoils it all ! He thinks he will break me ? 
I am not easily broken to any one’s will. No, Percy broke 
not my will ! My will I laid at his feet ! I loved him ! 
Oh, I love him ! Yea, I do ! I do love him now ! Oh 
heavenly Christ, help me, or for all my schooling I shall 
break faith with my soul, and yield to the tempter and flee 
with him !” The agony of Anne’s heart makes her sob in 
her anguish. 

“And yet there rides the King from me ! He will make 
me his queen ! That means the righteousness of his cause 
proven before all England ! I — I would not have him else ! 
Ah ! What did I say ? Have him ! I want him not, I 
want nobody ! But Queen of England ! QUEEN ! 
Q-U-E-E-N !” 

The next day the Lady Anne finds herself riding to 
Greenwich House. The Viscount George, Master Henry 
Norris, Sir Harry Guilford with myself and some men-at- 
arms are sent to conduct the Earl’s family back to court. 
It is a pleasant ride, I do assure you, and we make a merry 
party, as all are glad to have the Lady Anne return. 

Greenwich House is situated on the right bank of the 
river Thames, about six miles southeast of London, and is 
a favorite royal residence of King Henry. It is one of the 
old royal residences, and hath housed successive kings, 
eventually passing to Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, and 
at his death to King Henry VII. Our present King was 
bom here, and it therefore hath a pleasant place in his 
regard; and in memory of his childhood’s days he has 
named it “Placentia,” for while his father was strict in his 
training and dieting, being a lusty young one and of vig- 
orous appetite, he would steal the cook’s cakes and they 
never told on him. It has a lordly park of nearly two 
hundred acres, that is beautifully recovered from the forest 
that borders it ; and this has been converted into walks and 
gardens where choicest flowers bloom. Kiverwards the 
house looks out on terraces that lead down to his Majesty’s 
barges; and looking southwards a fine view of London 
is seen away in the distance, while across the river the 
plains of Essex, with its glorious timber beyond, can be 
seen, as far as the eye can reach. 


148 


By the King’s Command. 

The King is at Bridewell with Percy, or as we must call 
him, Earl Percy; as his father has died recently, and he 
has come to the title ; but the Queen receives the Lady Anne 
pleasantly, and if she is sorry to see again her very beautiful 
lady in waiting, she certainly has the tact not to show it in 
the least degree. 

But all we of the younger set are glad to see her, and we 
have a jollification after the evening meal, and it is here 
that Earl Percy first sees her. 

He knows that she is to come to-day, and he is glad to 
get back from Bridewell, with the King, to see her. What 
will it be for them to live under the same roof together, he 
chained to the Countess of Northumberland (Lady Mary 
Percy) when his whole soul is Anne’s, and Anne’s only? 

Time and trouble leave ineffaceable markings on the 
soul, for the body is only the covering for the subtle inhab- 
itant, and Earl Percy looks aged with the maturity of 
sadness. From his lordly, grand buoyancy, as of yore, he 
is developing a moody thoughtfulness ; but perhaps that has 
been because of his secretly hungering for a sight of his 
love; for, as he enters the room where we are, his whole 
being lights up with a radiancy that is like his old-time self, 
as he searches her out with his eyes, and all his old winsome 
grace is redolent in his being as he greets her. 

“I am very, very glad to see you !” and he has both her 
hands in his own, and he will not let them go, and there 
is a liquid pathos in his eyes, and sterling heavenly truth in 
his words, that ring out their old-time welcome. 

She has difficulty in keeping away from his arms and 
breast, and I fear he is about to lift her to his lips, when 
she releases her hand from his, and says, “Dance with me, 
my lord, for you used to dance well.” 

Less embarrassing to be in his embrace this way, and 
sweet to feel the pressure of his arms about her, and her 
heart turns sick at the thought of their severance, until she 
forces herself from this dangerous mood ; for he is daring to 
whisper loving endearments in her ears, which she may not 
hear on pain of imprisonment, or perhaps even death to 
him. 

“Hush! You jeopardize us both. I dare not listen to 
you, my lord.” 


Home Again in Merrie England. 149 

“I must be heard ! I must see you alone !” 

“Very well, then. It is perhaps tempting death for 
thee to do so, for I know we shall be closely watched.” 

“I care not for death. I would court it gladly for thy 
sake.” 

“That would not benefit me. You must realize that we 
are in the tiger’s lair, and you must realize that the gulf 
of marriage separates thee from me; and you would not 
harm me?” 

“Nay ! nay ! But I must see thee a little while alone. 
Think, my soul has been starving for thee for nearly two 
years past, and thou canst not deny me a crumb of thy 
love.” 

“Come later with Thomas Wyatt to my father’s apart- 
ments. The Earl and the Countess are guests of their 
Graces of Norfolk, and the way is clear.” 

Percy is glad of the opportunity, and later we go to- 
gether. No sooner does he see her than he goes to her and 
gathers her to his breast, when Anne struggles to free her- 
self and meets him with flashing looks. “My lord, I am 
not here for that. That is past and ended forever between 
us.” 

“Oh, God! Can it be possible?” 

“Yes, my lord. I have invited thee here to warn thee, 
and this is our God-given opportunity for me to do it. 
From henceforth we must be as strangers, or rather as 
brother and sister, if we are to live under the same roof 
together.” 

All he does is to kneel before her and take her hands, 
will take her hands and hold them; and in the agony of 
the inevitable, looks at her with all the old love of his 
nature pouring out of his eyes on her, and can only say: 

“Dost thou tell mie that?” 

“Yes, my lord. And thou wilt not make it hard for me, 
a weak maid; for thou art strong and noble. Thou wilt 
not embitter our lives, that are so cruelly sundered. You 
see, perhaps, why I am here, almost by force, by the same 
cruel destiny that hath severed us forever, and where it is 
to land me I know not ; but thou wilt spare me added embit- 
ferments by such loving conduct and watchfulness of my 


150 


By the King’s Command. 

interests that may help preserve and bless me, for I may 
need such kindly protectors.” 

Understanding her case almost prophetically explained, 
we both kneel before her and pledge her our devotion, while 
Percy says : 

“This is a hard matter for me, love, for I have only thee ; 
and despite all thou sayest, my soul is thine alone, and only 
can be thine !” 

Taking each by the hand, she leads us to the door. 

“I thank thee both so much ! God knows how much V 9 
and she is gone. 


The King’s Passionate Love. 


151 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE KING’S PASSIONATE LOVE. 

The Cardinal has never recovered from the separation 
from Percy. He has taken another secretary by the name 
of Thomas Cromwell, a man of humble origin, his father 
having been a blacksmith. As a youth, Thomas Cromwell 
has had an adventurous career, having travelled as far as 
France and Italy. On returning he became a scrivener, 
that is a combination of attorney and money lender; and 
the Cardinal, having some dealings with him, found him 
useful, and took him into his service. 

Being exceedingly bright and original in both thought 
and suggestion, the Cardinal hath found him useful in the 
“King’s matter,” as the mooted divorce is now called. 

About six months before the Lady Anne’s return, the 
“King’s matter” hath been put into shape by the Cardinal 
and Master Cromwell, and an infamous suit secretly insti- 
tuted, hath been taken into the Cardinal’s Legatine Court 
against the King for “cohabiting with his brother’s wife 
for eighteen years.” 

His Majesty is informed by this mockery of law, that 
“He has so transgressed against public morals.” 

Archbishop Warham is associated with the Cardinal in 
this deep laid scheme as assessor, and the King names a 
proctor to plead his cause. 

Three sessions of the court are held, when the Em- 
peror Charles’s ambassador finds it out, and he lets his 
imperial master know post haste, what is being done to his 
aunt, the Queen of England. The object of the court is to 
obtain a sentence in favor of the King, and get the Pope 


152 


By the King’s Command. 

to confirm it. But his Holiness at this time is in terror 
of the Emperor Charles’s army, for Borne is sacked and the 
Pope is a prisoner of the Emperor, to the terror of Chris- 
tendom, so their scheme falls through, as the Emperor has 
the Pope at his mercy. 

What is next to he done ? 

Make the matter public by an appeal to the bishops of 
the English church. Her Majesty hearing about it, takes 
the Bishop of Bochester into her counsel, and retains him to 
defend her rights, and as the whole matter is bruited 
abroad, public sympathy is with the Queen. 

Now, what next, for his Majesty is impatient? 

Let his Majesty persuade the Queen to be compliant. 

And so one sunny morning in June the King comes into 
her Majesty’s private room with his customary “Good 
morning, Kate ; I would have a little talk with thee alone.” 

Motioning all to withdraw, her Majesty says, “You may 
keep the door, Master Wyatt,” and so I hear what I am 
about to tell you. 

“Kate, our married life is troubling me much,” the 
King says. 

“Why, my dear lord and husband?” and her Majesty 
comes and sits beside the King, and looks up into his face 
with a countenance full of gentle solicitation. 

There is no great disparity in age to a woman who is 
well preserved, who is five years older than her husband; 
add to this a lovely disposition, Christian devotion and 
charming manners, and you cease to wonder why all 
England loves the good Queen. 

She is dressed in soft silk taffeta of a rich wine color, 
her bodice trimmed high with costly Spanish lace. Her 
fingers are ringed with a few jewels, and she wears a golden 
bracelet, one of his Majesty’s early gifts to her. 

As she sits and looks lovingly into the King’s face his 
soul must be deeply calloused, or he would take her into his 
arms, and fly treason against her to the winds, and be 
loyal to the dear being who is so devoted to him. 

His Majesty cannot look straight at her, as he replies: 

“Well, Kate, I am troubled in my conscience, because 
holy writ forbids a man to marry his brother’s wife. No 
blessing has come to ns since our marriage; all our sons 


The King’s Passionate Love. 153 

have died in infancy, and England has no heir to the throne 
but our daughter Mary, and by her troth-plight to the 
Dauphin, all our lands will pass to France.” 

“Thou art charging high heaven, my dear husband, with 
a serious matter, for methought thy reign to this moment 
had been signally glorious. And as to our dear sons, 
heaven has given and taken three lovely princes, and am I 
to blame for what the King of Kings hath done ?” she says 
earnestly. 

“That does not alter the matter, Kate. That is the 
mark and seal of heaven against us, and the only course I 
can see is not to live in open sin ” he says in a dogmatic 
way. 

“Shame, Sire, to call it that after nearly twenty years of 
happy wedded life ! What have I done that you should 
call it so? Thou knowest thou art (next to God) my idol ! 
My very life and soul is thine ! I live, Henry, only to see 
thee honored and loved ! In thy absence I have kept thee 
before thy people and preserved their love for thee, ruling 
them creditably for thee ! And at our marriage didst thou 
not write to my father and say, ‘that if we were still free 
and not wedded, thou wouldst choose me before all others 5 ?” 
and she kneels at his feet and looks lovingly up into his 
face. 

“All this is true, Kate, but it should not have been,” he 
says hardly. 

“Oh, Henry ! Henry ! Thou art to me almost equal to 
my God ! Give me back thy love, dear husband !” she 
pleads, putting up her hands to him as she does to the 
blessed Mother of Christ. 

There is an agony of love, when one realizes that its fel- 
low is dying ; and poor Queen Katherine has to realize this 
living death, this living widowhood, that she will have to 
endure, for the King’s “conscience trouble” is but a subter- 
fuge to cover the dark purposes of his heart. 

“I intend to submit the matter to theologians and canon- 
ists, and meanwhile we had better live apart,” he dares to 
say, cruelly. 

“No, Sire, I will not do that! I have been lenient to 
thy follies, shut my eyes and prayed for thee when I have 
known thou art doing wrong. And to live apart from thee 


154 


By the King’s Command. 

would m'ean my consent to this greater sin of thine, for so 
the world will consider it,” she answers firmly. 

“Kate, I am doing what I am for the best,” he says 
lamely, seeing her determination. 

“The best, call you it, Sire! Then thou callest it best 
to get rid of me, that you may be more free with the Earl of 
Wiltshire’s daughter? But what will Christendom say?” 
she says to him with holy enquiry, as well she can. 

“It must not know, Kate,” is all he can reply. 

“Then see that thou take no unfair advantage of me, or 
Christendom shall know it, for I will appeal to his Holiness 
myself,” she positively says. 

His Majesty feels nonplused at his failure, and seeks 
out Wolsey. 

“What success had your Highness?” the Cardinal asks, 
glad to see him perplexed. 

“None whatever. She will not consent; threatens to ap- 
peal to the Holy Father.” 

“Will her Majesty keep secret about the matter?” the 
Cardinal enquires. 

“As long as we will. What more can we do, Wolsey?” 
he enquires of his skilled master statesman. 

“Ally yourself with King Francis to have the Emperor 
release Clement VII., who in gratitude will do anything 
you wish him,” the Cardinal says. 

“A good plan, Wolsey, and thou shalt undertake the mis- 
sion, and start immediately for its accomplishment. But 
how shall we go about educating the public through the 
bishops?” the King enquires. 

“I will prepare an account for each bishop, and submit it 
to them for their answer against my return, Sire,” the wily 
Cardinal says, as he quickly plans. 

And so his Eminence, Cardinal Wolsey, starts out on his 
last great diplomatic mission, to scheme and work for the 
King’s unholy divorce ; a business that a prince of the 
church above all others should not put his hands to, to 
scheme and work upon the Holy Father and the great Em- 
peror Charles to unwed a chaste and virtuous Queen to grat- 
ify her husband’s lust and give him his desire with whom- 
soever he will. Oh, paugh! 

In sending out to the bishops, canons, and heads of 


155 


The King’s Passionate Love. 

universities, questions relating to the King’s divorce, the 
matter comes to the notice of Dr. Thomas Cranmer, a lec- 
turer in divinity at Cambridge, a man of pronounced views 
and learning, and one of the progressive spirits of the time 
to a more open knowledge of the holy scriptures for the 
masses, so lifting them out of their dense ignorance. The 
doctor’s opinion on the divorce pleases the King so well 
that he appoints him one of the commissioners from the 
universities upon the matter. 

This is the state of the King’s affairs when the Lady 
Anne returns. 

Court news is soon learned, and Anne finds herself to be 
the centre in the King’s mind upon which it all turns, in- 
deed she is made by the court factions the sum and sub- 
stance of the whole matter, and Percy and I pity her from 
the very depths of our souls. 

Her father and step-mother favor the King. 

Her uncle, the Duke of Norfolk, will do anything to spite 
Cardinal Wolsey, and thinks he will revenge himself 
through Anne’s position. 

Her brother George urges her on to the crown that des- 
tiny is bringing her, and says, foolishly, “that it is against 
all thought that she shall reject what the Almighty is so 
highly honoring the family in.” 

Queen of England ! By the will of God ! His Majesty’s 
wrongs righted, and she to come to the throne by lawful 
wedlock before all the world ! His Holiness to sanction it ! 
England to acknowledge and rejoice at it! Queen! 
QUEEN ! 

Think of it ! And the Lady Anne, with this constantly 
poured into her ears, gets to thinking a little about it that 
it is attractive ! Oh, me ! oh, me ! I am sorry to have to 
so tell it, but this is what she is filled with at court on her 
return ! And I haven’t half told it ! 

A hawking party is arranged for the next day, and it is 
here that his Majesty first meets the Lady Anne. Riding 
and hawking are his favorite pastimes, and the very flower 
of the court are assembled to ride with his Majesty to hunt 
the wild crane that frequent the lowlands beyond the park, 
and that breed in the Essex marshes across the river. 

The Lady Anne rides “Hector,” whom Percy has been 


156 


By the King’s Command. 

caring for in her absence. She is habited in black velvet, 
with lace collar and cuffs, a hat of the same she wears with 
an aigrette of plumes pinned in with the King’s jewelled 
brooch, that he has given her. 

So the King sees her for the first time after her return. 
Mounting quickly, he rides up to her with, “Lady Anne, I 
greet you well !” 

“I am pleased to see thee, Sire.” 

“Wert thou yesterday? Oh, but thou wert sick?” and 
his Majesty looks quizzically at her. 

“I was indisposed, Sire.” 

“Indisposed to see me, that is not flattering!” he says 
coyly. 

“I did not say that, Sire.” 

“Then I am glad. Lady Anne. You see I have to call 
thee differently.” 

“I hope my father thanked thee, Sire, or I will do so.” 

“Thou art cold and formal,” he says, as she rejects his 
advances and gifts. 

“I am talking to his Majesty.” 

“Then his Majesty commands thee to be less formal. 
Or hast thou not forgiven me ?” he says tenderly. 

This is dangerous ground for him to be alluding to the 
old-time trouble, and so Anne says, “Yes, your Highness.” 

“I did it for thee !” he says, more tenderly. 

Dangerous again, this tremendous passion, from this 
passionate and self-willed man. 

“Your Highness is flattering in your preferments, but 
yonder flies our quarry, and thou wilt not have the advan- 
tage of me this time,” she says as she releases her hawk and 
rides hard after it. 

His Majesty cannot settle down to hunting, but waits 
assiduously on her, alighting to retrieve her falcon, and 
then instead of mounting, walks beside “Hector,” with his 
hand on the horn of her saddle, and with his own bridle- 
rein over his arm. 

“Thou art glad to see me ?” he says, looking up at her. 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“Do you know that Wolsey has gone to France and Italy 
to get the divorce settled with his Holiness ? When I saw 
you in the Cardinal^ garden I made you a promise, and 


The King’s Passionate Love. 157 

these two years I have steadily kept it in view. I wonder 
if yon have thought as constantly of me?” 

“I have thought of thee, sometimes, Sire.” 

“Only sometimes ! I am doing all for your sweet sake ! 
Let me lift thee out of the saddle, for I would have thee 
nearer to me,” he says, taking hold of her. 

“No, Sire ! No !” Yet despite her protests, he does so, 
and kisses her before he sets her down. 

“Shame, Sire ! You would not do that before her Maj- 
esty.” 

“Yes, I would, for your sake, but I would not for scan- 
dal’s ; but some day I will kiss thee before the whole world, 
when thou art truly mine,” he says, passionately. 

“You should wait till that day, Sire.” 

“Thy lips are too inviting.” 

“I feel guilty when you talk that way to me. How can 
I serve the Queen when I remember this deceit?” she says. 

“Deceit, call you it? You will not see it is my right, as 
my life has been such a mistake. I feel, in loving you, 
Anne, that the future is unclouded and golden to both of 
us,” he says in that forceful way of his, as if he is truth it- 
self. 

“You talk so one-sided, Sire.” 

“How?” 

“Because you accept my consent without my giving it. 
I do not love you ! How can I love a married man. Sire ? 
Married man you are, and the law that joined you to one 
soul calls it iniquity for you and me to be as we are this mo- 
ment, and, Sire, let us mount and end this madness!” 
Anne says fervently. 

“Hast thou no charity ? For all my hopes of sympathy 
from you, you deny me same through false notions of what 
is right ! Anne ! Anne ! Others I could command ! To 
you I come and beg, for I will not think thy sweet heart 
can resist being kind to Henry Tudor, who pleads to you in 
his distress !” 

“What can I do ? Iam honored at thy confidence, Sire ; 
but you call on me for loving sympathy. True love 
for thee I have not, Sire, and I fear to misplease thee; 
these loverings I am unused to, for I cannot see myself thy 


158 


By the King’s Command. 

equal, Sire, but only tby humble subject,” she says desper- 
ately, yet nobly. 

“Let me dispel such delusions ! Anne, thou art my soul’s 
desire ! I am doing that to set us all right before Al- 
mighty God; for thou shalt become Queen, and all shall 
acknowledge the right of it!” he says, tremendously in 
earnest. 

Tenderly placing his arm about her, and drawing her to 
him, he says : “Let us so understand each other ?” 

What can she do? What can she say? Those great 
handsome eyes of his look her through and through; his 
pleading lips breathe eloquently upon her ; he is all earnest- 
ness, and will not be denied. “Anne ! Anne ! Dear Anne ! 
Pledge thyself to me ? One kiss ? One ! The seal of our 
pledge to each other?” he pleads with his arms about her. 

She can scarcely stand beside him, so ardent is he to get 
ler pledge ; but she manages to say : 

“Sire, I will be your friend, as true as maid can be. I 
will be no other’s friend but thine. But pity me. Sire, for 
you frighten me with your passion. I will love you as I 
can, and I will try and learn to do so; though my whole 
heart says it is wrong, while thou declarest it to be right.” 

“Thou darling of my soul ! Give me thy pledge !” he 
persists. 

“Nay, Sire! I may not!” 

“Why, Anne? Why?” 

“I could not serve the Queen again!” she says desper- 
ately.” 

“I will release thee!” he says. “Thou needest never 
serve her again. J ust one, to prove a little love for me ?” 
he pleads. 

“My proof thou dost call for over my pain ?” 

“Yes ! If loving proofs be painful, let us suffer to- 
gether,” he protests. 

“Let us mount and ride; forget me and think no more 
of me. Let me again to France.” 

“Never! That would mean for me to pluck out my 
soul, for thou hast possessed it,” he says. 

Taking her face tenderly in his hands, he kisses her, and 
releases her not till she responds, though it is with tears. 


The King’s Passionate Love. 159 

“Thou beautiful dear heart!” the King says, as he lifts 
her again into the saddle. 

The Duke of Norfolk, from a distance, has seen most 
of what has transpired, and he hurries up as the King goes 
to mount, and holds his stirrup for him. 

“I take great comfort in thy niece,” he says to the Duke. 

“I am pleased, Sire.” And as they ride away, his Grace 
says: “Woe to thee, Wolsey! I see my way to thy place, 
thou butcher’s cur!” 

Her Majesty is informed later that she is to dispense 
with the services of her beautiful lady in waiting, the 
Lady Anne Boleyn ; and she thinks : “Unhappy me ! My 
husband, the princes of the church, her canonists, her the- 
ologians, all array themselves to unmarry one poor woman, 
who only hath committed the crime of being devoted to her 
husband, her church and her God ! Woe is me !” 


160 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XX. 

TORTUOUS PATHS. 

The Cardinal is in France at Compiegne with Francis I. 
and his Court. He has not had the success that he wished, 
for without any intervention on the part of Francis, or 
Henry, Pope Clement VII. has obtained his liberty. The 
Emperor Charles had shut him up in the Castle of St. 
Angelo, but good Catholics have aided his escape, and he 
has fled to Orvieto. 

Wolsey is so slow on his mission, and the King so im- 
patient, that he won’t wait his return but dispatches 
his Secretary Knight to demand from the Pope a dispensa- 
tion to marry before the divorce sentence is pronounced. 
And Wolsey and the Secretary are expected home now any 
time. 

The Court is staying at Sheen, and we will take a look 
at the home life of King Henry. 

His Majesty not being a very early riser, there are always 
a number of ladies and gentlemen in the antechamber of 
their Majesties to receive them as they first appear in the 
morning; those in residence at court, and those who call. 
Sir Francis Bryan keeps the King’s door, and Master 
Heneage the Queen’s, this morning ; and none may enter but 
those who have special duties upon their person, like my- 
self ; or those whom their Majesties desire to see. 

The antechamber is spacious, and we all like to gather 
there, as this is the place to hear the latest gossip, and see 
the latest comers; and their Majesties always appear here 
in the morning to see and greet any and all who come to 
court. 

Sir Thomas More saunters in; he has been rowed down 


Tortuous Paths. 


161 


from his home near London. We all like him with his 
fascinating ways, and his Majesty especially so. He is a 
scholarly figure with his irregular features, grey eyes that 
see everything, so restless are they; his brown hair tinged 
with grey, is carelessly arranged ; his walk, his dress, care- 
less ; but his soul keenly alive with wit and humor, and full 
of the pathos and reverence of the deep callings of his soul 
that is not satisfied with common things, but exalts him to 
ideals. 

Bowing politely to all, he walks over to Dr. Cranmer, 
whom the King has made Archdeacon of Taunton, and 
says: “My lord Archdeacon, I hear that Cambridge is 
feeling badly, as Oxford is trying to coax you away from 
her.” 

“Oxford overestimates my ability, Sir Thomas; I only 
manage to keep busy ; but I have more leisure now through 
his Highness’ favor.” 

Oxford is astonishing the literary world with Master 
Grocyn’s Greek lectures. He must have studied well under 
Chancondylas, for his Greek is a delight, and his trans- 
lations a dream. 

“Yes. And we shall hear more of Grocyn later,” Dr. 
Cranmer replies. 

Many join the group as the learned talk goes on; and I 
scribble a few notes as the fit takes me, for sometimes they 
amuse the ladies. 

“I hear that our good Dr. Linaere, since his translation 
of Galen, is adding considerable experimental science to his 
treatment in medicine; and I know not whether it will be 
a compliment of his Highness to dispatch the doctor to any 
of us when sick, he is so full of experiment, and may try 
his hand on us,” Sir Thomas says. 

“He got hints from the lectures of Politian, the Floren- 
tine, and they bide in his memory. He only needs sub- 
jects,” Earl Surrey says, laughing. 

“Well, I am content with you, Doctor,” Sir Thomas says 
as Dr. Butts joins us. 

“It is well, Sir Thomas, for should we get resentful, we 
doctors can bide our time, and when you are sick add a little 
more ticklishness to our boluses,” the doctor says, laugh- 


162 


By the King’s Command. 

“What are you learned lights talking about? This is 
a surpassing age for wisdom. Our grandmothers would be 
astounded at your talk. Book learning is getting common 
amongst us all, for look you, the Lady Anne Boleyn yonder 
is reading as diligently as if she were at her offices/’ the 
Princess Mary of Suffolk says. 

“I think my Lord Surrey is selfish, for I see he has 
written verses, and doth not offer to recite them/’ the Vis- 
countess Rochford says. 

“Some that his Highness hath particularly called for, 
ladies,” he replies suavely. 

“Then perhaps Master Wyatt will favor us, for I saw 
him writing,” Mistress Anne Saville says, in all eagerness 
to hear what I have written. 

“They are only the scribbling of my fancy, as I am won- 
dering where we are going to land with all this vast learn- 
ing and wisdom that his Majesty surrounds himself with,” 
I say. 

“Read them ! Read them, Master Wyatt !” all say. 

“Very well, then,” and I recite : 

We all get very learned 
As through this age we go , 

The world seems overturned 
By Vespucci Amerigo. 

Sir Thomas and “Utopia” 

Has changed all current thought , 

In “Nowhere land” of great ideals , 

Where men live as they “ ought ! ’ 

Galen lives in learned minds , 

Who itch to experiment ; 

And mortals quake when doctors see 
That pains their frames torment. 

Greek with Grocyn has come to life , 

Colet with zeal overflows. 

And lazy priests are mad with rage 
As their follies are exposed. 

The laugh that follows brings Lady Anne to us, who says : 
“Master Wyatt, you fairly rival Master Skelton. I am 


Tortuous Paths. 


163 


afraid were the Cardinal here he would resent your at- 
tack on the priesthood. But here is Doctor Cranmer ! 
But you believe in reform, Doctor?” she says turning to 
him. 

“Yes, Lady Anne, I do. The universities are tired 
of being bound by superstition. His Majesty is abolish- 
ing the grosser evils of the monks and friars, and he in- 
sists that their preaching shall be plain, reverent talks, 
like Dr. Latimer’s, and Colet’s, whom Archbishop Warham 
defends; or methinks the Bishop of London would silence 
him,.” 

“The Lady Anne is not pleased with my verses, because 
they allude not to the ladies; or perhaps her reading took 
all "her attention,” I say. 

“Ah ! We shall be pleased to learn what ideal work claims 
the interest of one so charming,” Sir Thomas says, bowing 
to her. 

“Your ‘City of God/ Sir Thomas,” the Duchess of 
Suffolk says. 

“ ‘St. J erome/ by Erasmus,” Dr. Cranmer says. 

“Please don’t guess, for I fear to tell you, if you do.” 

“What can it be? We really are inquisitive now,” Sir 
Thomas says, amused at her earnestness. 

“Queen Margaret of Navarre advised my reading it, and 
a dear friend gave me the book. But the Cardinal says 
we may not, and that is all I will tell,” Anne says, laugh- 
ing, as if she is not very much afraid of the Cardinal. 

Earl Percy knows it to be his troth-plight pledge to her, 
and it pleases him to know she has it still ; while all know 
it to be a copy of the prohibited gospels that is being read 
in the King’s palace. 

But here is his Majesty, accompanied by the Duke of 
Norfolk, and all bow low to his salutation. 

Her Majesty follows shortly after with Donna Elvira 
(Lady Willoughby-de Eresby), and the Countess of 
Northumberland. Their Majesties acknowledge each other, 
that is all ; for the King is affronted that the Queen won’t 
obey him by living apart, but will daily appear with him 
before us all. 

Of course we all understand it, and some are mean 
enough to try and please the King by slighting her 


164 


By the King’s Command. 

Majesty, but she is too royal to notice it, and they are con- 
temptible to do it. 

The courtiers break up into groups as they are friendly 
and understand each other, or as they are cunning and try 
to outwit each other; and I am afraid most at court try 
to do this to get his Majesty’s favor. 

There are three factions most prominent. His Majesty’s, 
the Queen’s, and the Lady Anne Boleyn’s. 

The Duke of Suffolk and his Majesty’s sister, the Duchess 
of Suffolk, with their Graces of Norfolk, back the King in 
everything; the Duke of Suffolk because he is the King’s 
brother-in-law, though he is an unprincipled and con- 
temptible rogue; and his Grace of Norfolk, because he has 
an unsatiable ambition, and hates Cardinal Wolsey, and 
wants his chancellorship, because the Chancellor is more 
clever than himself. 

Sir Thomas More (strange to relate, because his Majesty 
likes him so well) favors her Majesty, because he is honest. 
The good old Bishop of Rochester, and Lord and Lady 
Willoughby-de Eresby are with him, and head the Queen’s 
party because they love her. 

And the Boleyn family, with Earl Percy, Dr. Cranmer, 
and we of the younger set favor Anne. For myself I love 
good Queen Katherine, but I must say I idolize the Lady 
Anne, and always shall, though you may think me a fool 
for doing so. 

Her Majesty moves from group to group, and her con- 
duct is never so Christianly beautiful as now, as she sees 
her husband’s love estranged from her ; yet in her womanly 
grandeur seemingly blind to it, that she may cover and 
screen him as much as possible from scandalous tongues 
that are now only too busy with her idol. Anyone can see 
her life is a martyrdom, a sweet, loving heart being cruci- 
fied, and bearing it because she is a woman with a grand 
soul. 

And yet it is a cruelty to charge it all on the Lady Anne 
as some do, for I can swear to her exemplary conduct; for 
she loves not the King, only is flattered and urged on to 
please him by those who would use her to climb by. I 
am sure of this, for haven’t T known her from childhood? 

Presently her Majesty comes to the group where the 


Tortuous Paths. 


165 


Lady Anne is, and says, “Lady Anne, we are sorry to lose 
yon from onr attendance, though you have weighty reasons, 
I am sure, for absenting yourself.” Her Majesty says this 
with a touch of sadness in her tone that goes to the heart of 
the Lady Anne. 

“I am hoping my attendance will not be less upon your 
Highness, for in my leisure I can study how best to please 
you,” Anne says, blushing. 

“When she is not engaged in studying to please his 
Highness,” the Lady Rochford says rudely. 

“Or comforting him in his great affliction !” Donna El- 
vira says sarcastically. 

“Peace, ladies ! Thou art forgetting thy manners. I 
do not say these things, who have more cause than thou,” 
the Queen says with dignity. 

“The ladies surely envy his Highness’ choice, and per- 
haps covet the distinction,” Anne answers quickly, bowing 
low to her Majesty. 

“Then I am glad to see thee blush as thou sayest it, for 
it saves thee from my rebuke,” the Queen retorts. 

“Thy rebuke will be merited when I solicit his High- 
ness’ notice, madam, and I must learn thy secret to keep 
him from me,” Anne says with cutting politeness, but with 
a flashing eye. 

The conversation is so vigorously carried on, and plainly 
spoken, as to draw his Majesty’s attention to what is tran- 
spiring; and he turns to see the Lady Rochford jostle the 
Lady Anne in passing her, and hear her say, “Thou art 
wanton and bold, and if I were her Majesty I should slap 

“God will do that,” her Majesty sorrowfully replies, as 
she passes on. 

“What is this? What is this? My Lady Rochford, 
what art thou saying?” his Majesty says, coming to the 
Lady Anne. 

Her Majesty pauses not, but passes to her own private 
apartments, but the Lady Rochford does, being addressed 
by the King. 

“Her ladyship is complaining of your Highness’ favor 
to me, Sire, and rebuking me for accepting same,” Anne 
says in agitation. 


166 


By the King’s Command. 

“Thou art a shrewish and malapert woman, and what 
meanest thou intruding in my affairs?” the King says 
angrily. 

Lady Rochford is terribly frightened at the way things 
have taken, and falls upon her knees, and asks his 
Majesty’s pardon. 

“Thou art kneeling to the wrong one. The Lady Anne 
thou hast offended through me, and thou must look to her 
for it,” the King says coldly. 

“Then I beg thy pardon,” the Viscountess says to Anne 
with a bitter heart, and I am sure though she is Lady 
Anne’s sister-in-law, yet she feels hateful towards her. 

“We can dispense with thy attendance at court the next 
month, that thou mayest consider it well not to meddle in 
our affairs. Lady Rochford,” the King says. And lifting 
his voice to be heard by all, he says, “I would have you all 
understand that the Lady Anne Boleyn is my particular 
good friend, and any slighting her in the least degree, and 
I know it, I will treat it as done to myself !” 

The Cardinal entering, causes a diversion, for the King 
is all eagerness to know the success of his mission. Beckon- 
ing to him, the Cardinal comes and kneels and greets the 
King, and waits for his Majesty to give him a private 
audience, seeing he is with the Lady Anne. 

“Thou hast been gone a long time, Wolsey,” the King 
says. 

“Your Highness’ matter could not be hurried,” his 
Grace replies. 

Wolsey fidgets around and waits, and comes not to the 
“matter,” hoping the King will take him to his private 
audience room, as he has formerly done, until the King’s 
patience will not wait. 

“Hast no matter of import for us, or is thy mission a 
failure?” he says petulantly. 

“I was waiting the Lady Anne Boleyn’s absence that I 
might communicate to your Highness your private ‘mat- 
ter,’ ” the Cardinal says pointedly. 

Anne has been sufficiently goaded by her Majesty, and 
her ladies, to a state of self defense ; and knowing how little 
the Cardinal likes her, she says: “Now, Sire, that is what 
I justly complain of. His Eminence knows the matter 


Tortuous Paths. 


167 


equally concerns me with thee ; and while you give me your 
complete confidence, his Grace upbraids you for doing so 
by withholding his. And it is this kind of thing I am 
suffering from at court, and. Sire, you can see how I am 
treated; and it makes me long for a place and station 
where I can be happy with your Highness, or have your 
Majesty leave me to go my way alone from you,” she says 
boldly. 

“Thou art my true love ! Be not disturbed ! You shall 
see !” the enamoured King whispers to the Lady Anne. 
And giving his arm to her, to the astonishment of us all, 
his Majesty leads her to his council chamber, followed by 
the Cardinal in deep perplexity. 

How he hates to tell his failure to the King ! And right 
in the midst of it the King’s Secretary Knight is an- 
nounced, who has had better success.. 

“Well, what hast thou done. Master Knight ?” the King 
says. 

“H have seen his Holiness, who sent you his blessing, 
Sire !” 

“And how was his Holiness after his imprisonment?” 

“He looked much worn, Sire, after the rough handling 
that war hath brought him. At Orvieto he was in a dingy 
room most illy furnished, sitting upon a bench with an old 
coverlet upon it, and he looked sick at heart.” 

“Did he grant my request ?” 

“He gave me this, Sire.” 

His Majesty and the Lady Anne look pleased when he 
places his hand in his bosom and draws forth a paper sealed 
with the Pope’s signet ; and the Cardinal looks green almost 
with envy. 

The triumph of the Secretary is short lived, for the 
documents only prove to be a courteous letter, and a “dis- 
pensation” that is worthless ; for it does not bar the Queen’s 
right of appeal, if Wolsey decides in the Queen’s favor; 
and the King, pending an appeal, may not marry, so that 
his Holiness reserves the decision for himself. 

“Two hundred and forty thousand pounds wasted ! Why 
did you not see his Holiness? You are losing your skill. 
Wolsey ! My Secretary to outwit thee ! His Holiness had 
better look out, for I will not be balked ! Your heart is 


168 


By the King’s Command. 

not in the matter! I have suspected thee!” Thus the 
King rages at his Chancellor, who kneels before his Majesty 
dumbly waiting the storm to pass. 

“The Cardinal has no heart in the matter. He liketh 
me not. Sire,” the Lady Anne rejoins. 

“I assure you. Lady Anne, you are mistaken ! I would 
do anything to please his Highness. But the Emperor 
sways the Holy Father, and his Holiness is afraid to offend 
him. And his Holiness knows you not. Lady Anne,” the 
Cardinal says. 

“It was your business to see his Holiness and acquaint 
him, and you return and have done nothing!” and his 
Majesty stamps in his wrath. “What is to be done ? Don’t 
kneel there. IJp and devise ways and means, or look out,” 
the King says cruelly. 

The Cardinal rises, as he sees that a great calamity is 
coming on him. He is checked in his thoughts by the 
King saying, “Has not Durham House, and the revenues 
of the Bishopric belonging to the county of Middlesex 
fallen vacant ?” 

“They are at your Highness’ disposal,” the Cardinal 
says meekly. 

“Then put the house and revenues immediately at the 
disposal of the Earl of Wiltshire,” the King says, looking 
lovingly at Anne. “And, Wolsey, put thy wits to better 
purpose than the results of this failure of thine, or I think 
I have those who can serve me as well,” the King says, 
dismissing him. 

With a sick heart the Cardinal goes out. “He would 
cast me off as an old coat,” he thinks. And as he passes 
through the ante-chamber he looks tenderly at Percy, as if 
he longs for some of the old love; but Percy responds not 
to his look. 

“Art thou satisfied?” the King says to Anne, now Wol- 
sey is gone. 

“You are very good, Sire.” 

“Is that all for so much?” and he folds her to his 
heart. 

“What more can I say, what more can I give ?” 

“Your soul, Anne, not your words. See here ! What 
think you of these ?” and the King opens a casket and dis- 


Tortuous Paths. 


169 


plays a necklet of burning rubies and diamonds. “They 
nearly match thine eyes and hair. And thou wilt want at- 
tendants, equerries, pages and maids. Whom wilt thou 
have ?” 

“Oh, they are beautiful, Sire,” the Lady Anne says, ex- 
amining the jewels. “Give me Mistress Mary Wyatt, and 
Mistress Gaynsford, — and !” 

“Thou wilt want George Zouch for thy equerry, and a 
train bearer; thou dainty loving vanity, for all shall see 
thou art Queen indeed. But his Holiness is provoking!” 
the King says breaking in on Anne, and running on with 
his plans. 

“And I shall not be annoyed more.” 

“No, but live like a Queen, as I am thy King,” the 
enamoured King replies. 


170 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

SUDOR ANGLICUS. 

Durham House, the new residence of the Earl of Wilt- 
shire, has assumed a wonderful brightness, since its occu- 
pancy by the favorite of the King, the lovely Lady Anne. 
It is situate less than a mile from the nearest city gate, 
being built back from the river, which it faces. It has 
beautiful grounds, made so by floral art, and its rich vel- 
vety lawns gently slope down to the river side to the 
“stairs,” where liveried watermen with barges wait to con- 
vey “lords and ladies fair 7 ’ upon the great river highway 
of Tudor London. 

The Lady Anne has assumed a semi-royal state. She has 
chosen my sister Mary as her special lady in waiting; and 
the house is filled with her women, maids and pages, quite 
an extensive household. His Majesty hath entrusted his 
wishes to the Lady Anne’s step-mother, the Countess of 
Wiltshire, who sees that nothing is lacking in the appoint- 
ments of the future Queen of England, for so the Countess 
considers her. 

Anne is more vivacious and free here, as she is away 
from disagreeable people ; and though she is constantly at 
court we have orders to apprise his Majesty always of 
her presence, so that she has always immediate access to 
the royal Henry, who is entirely enamoured of her. 

Bridewell Palace being close to Durham House, his 
Majesty can be rowed there in a few minutes, and he is 
there constantly ; making it almost a court in rivalry with 
their Majesties. His Eminence finds it politic to be seen 
there, and as his residence of York Place is so close, his 
Grace sends presents of tunny fish, shrimps, and game to 


Sudor Anglicus. 171 

the Lady Anne ; though none of these things alter the secret 
dislike that she has towards him. 

As for ourselves, we find ourselves frequently at Durham 
House, for our dear idol draws us there ; and as our duties 
with his Majesty are light, there being so many of us, 
Percy and I can well give her our time, that our full in- 
clination leads us to do. The Countess of Northumber- 
land (Percy’s wife) gives her whole time to the Queen, 
for Percy and she understand the gulf that divides them, 
though the marriage knot ties them; and while they are 
courteous they live absolutely apart, as if they were only 
nominal friends. 

The City of London is very much disturbed just now 
over two things that are happening, of a very opposite 
nature. There is a report abroad that the dreaded “sweat- 
ing sickness” (Sudor Anglicus), that devastated England 
ten or twelve years ago, has broken out again. 

And there is quite a sensation in the Sunday preaching 
at St. Paul’s Shrouds, over Dr. Latimer’s, his Majesty’s 
chaplain’s sermons. His talks are so plain and to the point 
that the extreme Catholics say they savor of Lutheranism ; 
while his Majesty thinks the people should be spoken to 
plainly, and upholds the doctor. This causes such a big 
gathering, and sometimes a disturbance, as to excite peo- 
ple’s curiosity, and is the talk of the day. For you see 
the doctor used to be such a fierce disputant at Cambridge 
with Stafford, the lecturer, and so rigid a doctrinist for 
strict Catholicism, that the students, for his zeal, made him 
their cross-bearer in their religious processions. And it is 
difficult to understand the change, but there! This is a 
changeful time. 

The court has gone to Greenwich, and will be there 
some time, and Percy and I have a good opportunity to get 
off together, and of course our boat is taking us to Durham 
House. 

The Lady Anne is pleased to see us, and we get an op- 
portunity to see her alone, which is a rare occurrence. 

We are shown into her own private room, and as we see 
her natural and unaffected, the old spirit comes upon 
Percy, and before he or she has realized it he has gathered 
her into his arms and kissed her. 


M2 By the King’s Command. 

“Why — how dare you ! How — dare — you ?” she says 
with pique. 

“I beg your pardon ! No — I — don’t mean that. I 
would do it again ! You look like other days ! But I have 
offended you, and for that I am sorry, please forgive me ?” 
and he is on his knees before her. 

“Rise, my lord. You have deeply offended me. I was 
going to ask you to do me a favor, but Master Wyatt, I 
shall have to ask you, as the Earl of Northumberland is so 
forgetful I shall fear to trust him/’ 

“Thou couldst not wound me more deeply, and since you 
think it, I must deserve it ; but I beg you will let me serve 
you,” Percy entreats. 

“I am at your whole service and await your commands,” 
I say quickly, for I envied Percy his privilege, though I 
am glad now I did not copy him. 

“To-morrow is Sunday, Thomas; and as his Majesty is 
at Greenwich, and will not call, I would have you go with 
me to the preaching of Dr. Latimer at St. Paul’s.” 

Now, I would willingly brave any danger, where I would 
be personally involved, but to do this thing for the Lady 
Anne, would mean to place her in grave danger, as I will 
tell you. 

Since she has resided at Durham House, and the bish- 
ops have been publicly enlightening the people about his 
Majesty’s divorce, public scandal has been busy with her 
name, and they are speaking of her as the King’s “mis- 
tress.” Sympathy has run so high for the Queen that 
were the Lady Anne to appear on the street, and she be 
recognized, she would be mobbed, and perhaps killed. But 
the Lady Anne doesn’t know anything of this. 

There is such perplexity in my looks that the Lady Anne 
says, “Why, Thomas, what is this? Will you not oblige 
me ?” 

I scarcely know how to answer her, but Percy says 
quickly, knowing as I flo the risk of it, “I beg you 
reconsider your request, as there is great danger.” 

“I did not ask you, my lord ! And if Master Wyatt is 
not willing I have others who will gladly favor me,” she 
says, with a sweeping curtsey of chilling politeness. 

I pity Percy, who is cut to the soul, for he takes a slight 


Sudor Anglicus. 173 

from her, deeply. And so I say, “Lady Anne, what Earl 
Percy says is true. There is great danger for you to go; 
and I beg you will not.” 

“What danger, ‘Thomas ? You are not cowardly ! What 
do you mean, wherein lies the danger ?” she says, perplexed, 
as we glance at each other. 

How can we tell her ? That is impossible ! I never was 
in such great perplexity. And Anne is wilful, and I can 
see by the flash of her eye she is getting imperious at our 
lame hesitancy ; and she says with freezing pointedness : 

“Master Wyatt, will you do my request or no ?” 

“Indeed I will ! Glad I am to be honored by you ! But 
I will ask you on your return if you will not forgive Earl 
Percy and myself for what you think an offence in us 
now,” I say with some spirit, as she is so forceful in having 
her way. 

“You may, Thomas. Earl Percy may ask for himself if 
he has a mind,” she says in a bantering tone. “But if 
there is any adventure in it, that will please me,” she 
says with spirit. 

“May I beg one request ?” Percy says to her gravely. 

“Yes, my lord.” 

“May I accompany Master Wyatt, and assist him in se- 
lecting your escort? I beg of you, Lady Anne,” he says 
imploringly. 

“Yes, my lord,” she answers courteously. 

“Thank you,” and with this permission we leave to make 
ready. 

“Could anything be harder to do than that, Thomas?” 
Percy says, perplexed. 

“It is a great risk, and we shall have to take her father 
and brother with us, and a small escort. Yet if we do so 
it will draw attention, which would be equally dangerous.” 

We arrange it with the result that the next afternoon the 
Lady Anne rides with her father, and brother George; 
Master George Zouch, her equerry; Master Henry Norris, 
Earl Percy, and myself ; while two stout grooms bring up 
the rear. 

It is an enjoyable ride past stately mansions that already 
begin to encroach on the country, through the city gate, 
where the “Watch” salute us as we pass. Up the hill, and 


174 


By the King’s Command. 

round to the “Shrouds” we go, past many people hurrying 
in the same direction. 

The “Shrouds” is a covered place where the people can 
be sheltered in stormy weather, and where the preacher 
can be heard better than in the pulpit in the open at St. 
Paul’s Cross. 

“What an immense crowd, my lord,” the Lady Anne 
says to Percy. 

“Yes. This being Sunday, the craftsmen and appren- 
tices have leisure, and they bring their wives and sweet- 
hearts here.” 

The gentlemen dismount as they get nearer, and lead 
their horses, and Anne says, “Master Wyatt, have Zouch 
come for my horse, for I intend to walk.” 

“On no account, Anne,” the Viscount George says. 

But she is in Percy’s arms and out of the saddle in an 
instant, to the vexation of us all. 

“Thomas, you mount, and Norris and you mind the 
horses with the grooms, and he within reach of us on the 
instant, and spur to us if needs he,” he hurriedly whispers 
to me, and follows Anne, who, between her father and the 
Viscount, is getting as near as possible to Master Latimer. 

He is a man of a sharp, fair face, with moustache and 
pointed heard, and has a piercing eye. His manner is 
strong and pronounced, and he seems the very embodiment 
of sincerity. 

The crowd around the Lady Anne is not the peaceful 
Sabbath folk that one would expect to be listening to a 
Sunday sermon, but is made up of all elements. The ap- 
prentices have their “clubs.” There are tavern frequent- 
ers, pickpockets, low thieves, and a sprinkling of broken 
down gentility who have swords, while there is any amount 
of the fanatical classes of both sides of Catholics, those 
who favor and those who condemn the preacher. 

Anne is interested in the crowd around her, for she 
has never experienced anything like it before. Right be- 
fore her is a buxom maid leaning on the arm of a stout ap- 
prentice, who assert themselves by tramping the toes of 
those immediately behind them. Anne has received the 
heel of the man more than once, while a frail looking girl 


Sudor Anglicus. 175 

next to Anne’s father, who looks ill, and should not 
be there, has received the heels of the buxom maid. 

Shifting along a little, the Viscount George receives 
the heels of the apprentice, and the Viscount pushes him 
off in short order. 

“Canst thou not stand at thy ease, fellow, without tramp- 
ing the toes of those around thee?” he says. 

“Whom dost thou call fellow?” 

“Any that is as churlish as to tramp the toes of a lady,” 
he angrily replies. 

“Then if dainty ladies liketh not jostling, let them stay 
with their kind,” the buxom wench retorts. 

“There are too many discontents listening to yonder 
croaker,” says a street hag, mumbling her prayers and tell- 
ing her beads. 

“His Majesty should silence such ranting, but he is too 
busy with his mistress, and false to our good Queen,” a 
burly porter says. 

It is like a whip lash laid across the shoulders of the 
Lady Anne, to hear public opinion of her. Her soul re- 
volts at the charge wherein a desperate fate hath placed 
her, and gasping out, “My lord, we must get out of here !” 
turns and faces — the CROWD — that hems them in to a 
great depth. 

The girl beside the Earl of Wiltshire has been taken sud- 
denly sick, and would fall but for the Earl’s support. Cold 
shivers seize her, giddiness, pains in neck, shoulders and 
limbs, then profuse sweating. She talks wildly of 
“Smithfield,” where evidently she lives. 

“It’s the ‘sweating sickness;’ she’s got it bad. My 
daughter died of it,” the old street hag says. 

“Then for God’s sake give her air,” the Earl sa} T s. 

Anne supports the young girl, and is all solicitation for 
her; while the Earl pays two porters gold to bear her 
out of the crowd. “Come to Durham House, to the Earl of 
Wiltshire’s, and let me know how she is later, and I will 
pay you more,” the Earl says to them. 

Earl Percy is wild with anxiety for Anne. He feels he 
must pick her up bodily and bear her out of the crowd ; 
when the old hag says: 

“Then this is King Hal’s mistress ! The Earl of Wilt- 


176 


By the King’s Command. 

shire’s daughter ! A pretty moppet of a dainty strumpet, 
to vie with the good Queen Katherine.” 

“Thou devil’s hag, peace, or thou shalt be publicly 
whipped,” Percy says, enraged. This brings curious eyes 
staring at the Lady Anne, while some say “The King’s mis- 
tress” and “The King’s fancy !” and the apprentice leers 
rudely at her, while she almost faints in her father’s arms. 

The Viscount knocks the apprentice down, when the 
cry of “Clubs !” rings out, and clubs in the hands of Lon- 
don apprentices and porters are formidable weapons; and 
London mobs don’t always wait for reasons to be given for a 
fight. 

Seeing the commotion, I spur forward with Master 
Norris, calling the others to follow ; and it is none too soon, 
for two low ruffians with swords are engaging Percy, who 
has only one hand free, as with the other he is supporting 
the Lady Anne, while the Earl and the Viscount have all 
they can do to try and clear a path to get out. 

Peaching over, I swing the Lady Anne up before me, and 
Percy, being free, runs one of the fellows through, while the 
other turns and would flee, but cannot. Percy marks him 
by slicing off his ear, to make him known to the City 
Watch, and calling “To horse,” we all make them face the 
“clubs,” and get out of it. 

I feel elated to have her arms about me, as we ride furi- 
ously down the hill, to the City gate, where the Earl ap- 
prises the “Watch” of what has happened, and its possible 
consequences, and the captain sends a strong party to sup- 
press the rioting. 

“Art thou hurt?” I say tenderly as I unwillingly transfer 
her to her own horse. 

“Not at all. My skirts are torn, as you see, for that old 
beldame delighted in tearing them.” 

“My shoulder is lame, for a lusty varlet dealt me a swing- 
ing blow from behind,” the Viscount says. 

“But that poor girl, father. What of her? How I did 
pity her,” Anne says solicitously. 

“They said she had the ‘sweating sickness/ and I fear 
for thee !” her father says. 

“I don’t think so. I shall dream of that brutal man with 
his wicked face, whom thou didst kill. He died with 


Sudor Anglicus. 177 

his soul unassoilized,” and Anne shudders, as she looks at 
Percy. 

“1 am concerned for thee/’ is all he says. 

The ride home is more grave than when we came, for we 
all are thinking of what may follow. 

At the house, after Anne is changed, she sends for us. 
“Tell me, as dear friends, is that the way they talk of me ?” 
she says in her undeniable way. 

And we can only say, “Yes, Lady Anne.” 

“I beg the forgiveness of you both ! I wish I had never 
gone !” she says tearfully. 

And we both kneel and kiss her hands, for her tears 
wring our hearts. 

“Thomas, will she catch that disease?” Percy says, as we 
leave her. 

“May the holy Jesu forbid it!” I say fervently, as we 
walk away. 


178 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

SUDOR ANGLICUS — CONTINUED. 

On the King’s return to Bridewell, he hears of the Lady 
Anne’s adventure. Being rowed to Durham House, he is 
all solicitous for her welfare. He sends for the Lord 
Mayor, and upbraids him for not keeping better order at the 
preaching, and the Lord Mayor is glad to get off with a 
scolding. 

They bring the news that the young girl of Smithfield is 
dead, and that many are sickening with the dreaded plague. 
This alarms his Majesty, who hurries away, forbidding 
Percy and me to go with him, and only taking Master Nor- 
ris along. I suppose he is afraid of infection, should the 
Lady Anne get ill. In two days the Earl gets sick, and 
Anne is all solicitous for her father. A violent fever of an 
inflammatory character sets in, that in its burning is intol- 
erable; chills and shivering, then fearful sweating, the 
perspiration being disagreeably odorous. 

We hear that Lords Clinton and Gray and the Abbess 
of Wilton, are sick, also ; and many are dying around us. 

Dr. Butts comes to see the Earl, who is delirious, and he 
advises that we go to Hever Castle as soon as possible. 
We learn the King has fled to Waltham. 

“What shall we do ?” Anne says to us. 

“We will tenderly care for the Earl, and wait and see,” 
Percy gravely replies. 

“It is all my fault ! Oh, if we had not gone ! Why did 
I not do as you wished ?” she says regretfully. 

“Never mind! Never mind! We will care for you, 
won’t we, Thomas ?” 

“Until death takes us away from doing so,” I solemnly 
promise. 


Sudor Anglicus. 179 

“Oh, thou art loyal hearts, and I do value your devotion,” 
she says with deep feeling. 

Next day Master Norris comes with a letter from his 
Majesty to Anne, which reads: 

“Lady Anne, I greet you well. 

“It grieveth me to learn of thy father’s sickness. From 
reports which come to me, the plague is raging, and as thou 
art most dear to me, thy safety will be assured by thy jour- 
neying to Hever Castle without delay, where Dr. Butts 
will come in a day or two. My messenger will tell thee 
of my care in arranging litters for thy journey. Take care 
of thyself, my dear love. Most affectionately; 

Henry. 

“Given at our Abbey, at Waltham, June 5th, 1528.” 

“He is so concerned that he flees farther from me,” 
Anne says bitterly. 

Percy and I look at each other, as the true character 
of the King is seen by her, who is to see later more of his 
insatiable cruelty. 

But we hold a council to know what to do, and decide 
that the Earl’s bargemen shall row them all to St. Tooley’s 
stairs in Southwark, while Percy and I take the men and 
litters through London. 

We let two days pass for the Earl to get a little strength, 
and meanwhile hear that Lords Clinton and Grey and the 
Abbess of Wilton are dead. Anne seems not as vivacious as 
formerly, which decides us at any risk to start early on the 
morrow, so that we can make the journey in one day. 

The Lady Anne is not so well next day, but we leave the 
Viscount in charge, and start ahead of them, as the tide will 
carry them more quickly than we can make it with the lit- 
ters. 

How can I describe what we see? The great mansions 
are closed, and the people are fleeing fear-stricken from 
London as fast as they can. 

All affected houses have a red cross chalked upon their 
doors, and some have written underneath, “Jesu, have 
mercy.” 

At the top of the Ludgate hill we meet a cart with two 


180 


By the King’s Command. 

drunken men. As it lumbers along I notice something 
sticking out like the boots of a man, and presently, as the 
drunken fellows have sense enough, they bawl: “Bring 
out your dead ! Dead bodies ! Dead bodies !” 

As we pass it we see eight or ten dead bodies, some in 
night clothes, others dressed and booted, tossed in together ; 
a sickening sight, as they go jolting over the cobblestones. 

“Oh, heavenly Jesu ! this is horrible ! Why drunken 
men for such a tender task ?” 

“Who but drunken men would do it, Thomas ?” 

“I suppose the drink blinds them to what they are doing.” 

“Yes. But look there, Thomas!” Percy says, pointing 
ahead of us. 

As we turn into Cheapside, a plague cart has stopped at 
a house, and two men are carrying out a woman. Yes, a 
mother! For two young girls and a little boy press after 
them and scream when they see her tossed in with the rest, 
and pushed to make room ; and then run after the cart as it 
moves away. 

“Great pitying God, have mercy on those motherless chil- 
dren !” Percy says, sobbing, and we all shed tears with, him 
and cannot help it. 

“I must go to them, Thomas,” he says. But we see an 
aged servitor run after them and coax them back, and we 
press on. 

Farther on we meet a better sight, three monks with a 
death cart; their grey cloaks and hoods showing them to 
be Franciscans. They have with them holy oil to anoint 
the dying, and a prayer to comfort hurrying plague 
stricken souls on their terrible journey. A black cloth 
covers this cart, and they move along with dispatch, ringing 
a bell, and calling : “To bury your dead !” 

“That is when the church glorifies herself, Percy. It 
seems as if a holy nimbus shines above those monks’ shaven 
crowns,” I cannot but say. 

“The good martyr who died for us all is best served as 
His servants wait on life’s martyrdoms,” Percy replies 
gravely. 

“That is better than burning books and such nonsense,” 
I say. 

“The church hasn’t time for it now, Thomas, and I 


Sudor Anglicus. 181 

would she never had ; better be praying and working to re- 
deem the stumbling, for souls ache for pitying aid and not 
coercion,” Percy says. 

The shops are closed. The few that are abroad go hur- 
riedly. The common terror is seen all around, from the 
crosses on the doors, to the plague carts ; and from minister- 
ing monks to the death pits filled in with quick-lime. 
Desolation everywhere, and the very presence of the death 
angel is seen and felt by all. 

Seeing a Carthusian hurrying across the road, Percy 
calls to him and says : 

“Father, here is gold for the needy,” and he offers him a 
handful. 

“Scarcely any use, sir, for the purveyors and bakers are 
fled.” 

“How do you manage?” Percy asks, as the horror of it 
grows on us. 

“We do what we can in the monasteries, but many of us 
are dying and the rest do as you see me doing.” 

“Are they dying rapidly, father ?” we say. 

“Nearly one thousand in the city yesterday, and a greater 
panic and flight to-day, so that the dead will be unburied 
and rot in the houses,” he replies. 

“Heavenly Jesu have mercy!” we both say devoutly, as 
the monk hurries on, forgetting to take the gold from 
Percy’s hand. 

We pass the Earl of Shrewsbury’s house, where the gates 
are closed and locked; then on to London Bridge, where, 
over the gates on spikes, is seen the last evidences of the 
headsman’s craft, whose ghastly heads and grinning skulls 
seem to look out over the City’s desolation in hideous mock- 
ery at man’s methods of redemption. 

The bridge’s rows of storied houses and shops are closed, 
and, but for the pretty little gardens filled with flowers that 
belong to them, the houses have the gloom and character of 
the dead. 

Turning sharply to the left, across the bridge, we go 
down to St. Tooley’s stairs, where we see the Viscount’s 
barge is already there. 

“Thou art not fit to ride !” Percy says in alarm as he 
sees Anne’s face, for it is flushed and unnatural. 


182 By the King’s Command. 

“Oh, yes, I will ride, I must ride beside father !” she says 
bravely. 

“Please let me put you in a litter, I beg of you ?” he en- 
treats of her. 

“No, I am all right ! We must hurry on !” and on we 
have to go, though we both feel she is going to be sick. 

It is an anxious journey, and we push along as fast 
as the horses can walk; all along, watching Anne, who, as 
we come to the hill at the little village of Westerham, 
nearly falls from her horse. 

Taking her in his arms, Percy puts her in the litter and 
we push on to the inn. 

“Heavenly Jesu ! Look here, Percy !” 

Upon the inn door is a red cross, and underneath, 
“Mother of God have mercy .” 

The landlady meets us, begging for help: “My gude 
man is dead ! Help me bury him ! My son is dying, and 
all have fled from me and I am alone!” she wails. 

“Can we have watering for the horses and a little for 
a sick man?” I say. 

“Yes, and welcome. Let thy men do it! But help me 
bury my man,” she entreats. 

Leaving the men to water the animals and Percy to 
care for the sick with the Countess, George Boleyn and I 
follow the woman into the house. Dressed in his clothes 
upon a mattress in a little room, lies a man with the dis- 
torted features of one who has died in delirium. His 
wife rolls him upon a coverlet and we carry him out 
through the inn room, where the rushes on its floor have 
not been changed for some time, for they smell musty 
and sour with stale ale and bones and victuals that lie 
mildewed and stinking. 

We dig a grave in the garden, and the woman tenderly 
lays a little crucifix upon her husband’s breast, and kneels 
and prays beside him. 

“Oh, heavenly Mother have mercy !” 

“Pitying Son of Mary, have mercy!” 

“Oh, heavenly Saints have mercy!” 

“If I die who will care for my boy?” 

“Oh, Mother of God, have mercy on him and on me !” 

So she wails as we dig and lay him in the grave, and 


183 


By the King’s Command. 

we leave her there with the gillie flowers blooming on the 
walls and sweet thyme and rosemary sending forth their 
perfume in the inn garden, as if no death angel were 
marching through the iand and pointing with his finger 
at perishing thousands. 

“It seems as if Nature is mocking us, Thomas. Those 
flowers, with their sweet breath, seem to smell of the dead. 
Let us away from here,” George Boleyn says. 

“What if that mother sickens and dies?” I say, as we 
pass out. 

“Anne is worse, Thomas,” George says, as we see Percy 
leaning over her, wiping her face with a kerchief, 
as tenderly as he would a little child’s. We push on as 
rapidly as possible, and are thankful when the gates of the 
castle receive us. 

Lifting her tenderly, Percy kisses the sweet face of his 
dear love as she moans : “Percy ! Percy ! I only love thee ! 
I only love thee ! My dear lord ! My dear husband !” and 
my heart is broken with his as we carry her to her chamber 
and my sister Mary takes charge of her. “Percy ! Percy !” 
we still hear her call as we leave her, and in the next room 
walk up and down with wringing hands and hearts. 

“Oh, great and good God spare her life !” Percy prays 
in his agony, and I find myself on my knees too, praying, 
as the moaning comes to us — “Percy ! Percy !”■ — over and 
over again. 

“She loves me, Thomas ! She loves me ! How good 
for me ! How hard for her ! My darling, my darling 
Anne, I love thee ! I love thee, pretty one !” and he 
kneels at her chamber door and kisses its threshold, where 
her feet have trod, so great is his love. And I go away 
in my misery with a sick heart and would to God she had 
called my name but once. 

The next day Dr. Butts arrives, and it takes all his skill 
to keep his patient alive, and weeks of the gentlest care 
before Anne can even see the King’s letters. 

His Majesty stays at Waltham Abbey for but a very little 
while. Fear of the plague seizes on him and he flees from 
place to place. His conscience is not troubling him very 
much about the divorce these days, for, in fear and dread 
of death, he seeks a reconciliation with the Queen. 


184 


By the King’s Command. 

It is a surprise one morning to the Queen to have him 
come to her and say : “Thou art over busy with thy work, 
Kate. Come and walk with me till Wolsey comes.” 

“I shall be delighted, Sire,” and her Majesty takes his 
offered arm and they walk in the gardens together. Here 
is where the Cardinal finds them, to his surprise. 

“What news has your Grace to-day?” the King says to 
him. 

“Grave news. Sire.” 

“Tell us, Wolsey. Is the dreaded plague abating?” he 
asks in cowardly fear. 

“London is in chaos. Famine is rampant, as the shops 
are closed and deserted, and many are starving to death 
because all have fled.” 

“Why doesn’t the ‘Watch’ prevent it and have the shops 
opened?” he says. 

“The ‘Watch’ has fled, Sire, and chaos reigns, for any 
that are left and strong, break into the shops and pillage 1 , 
and who can scarcely blame them?” 

“God is punishing us, Wolsey,” he says like a craven. 

“England is being punished, Sire,” the Cardinal diplo- 
matically rejoins. 

“We heard Sir Reginald Bray was sick,” the Queen says. 

“My good friend is dead, your Majesty, and we have but 
just buried him.” 

“My father’s friend. A courtier with gentle manners. 
I always envied thee him, Wolsey,” the King says, with the 
least touch of regret in his tone. 

“He was so kind to us at Hampton Court. Think of 
his being dead !” her Majesty says. 

“How are you fighting the plague ?” 

“At the outset I called all the abbots, abbesses and 
bishops to me and planned measures to meet the dreaded 
scourge,” his Grace replies. 

“Thou didst well. With what result, Wolsey?” 

“The Church’s servants, Sire, are ministering to the sick, 
nursing and caring for souls, assoilizing the dying and 
burying the dead. Then they dense the houses, gather food 
and scatter it to the feeble and needy, care for the orphans, 
and do all in their power to stem the dreadful pest.” 

“Does it not affect the monks ?” the King asks. 


Sudor Anglicus. 185 

“Yes, Sire, hundreds are dead, but that is their work.” 

“I believe the Almighty is chastening us sorely. I will 
send money and provisions. Masses must be said, Wolsey. 
We must repent of our sins !” he says in his fear and dread 
of a personal visitation. 

The Cardinal understands the King’s meaning and is 
pleased, and more so as the King takes his arm familiarly 
and will not let it go. 

“I am having masses said in our chapel three times a 
day for needy souls, and we will in again and call upon 
God for our realm,” the King says. 

“Yes, Sire.” 

As they pass to the altar each of them has different 
thoughts. 

The Queen is glad that her husband’s love is return- 
ing to her. 

The Cardinal, as he sits beside the altar, thinks how 
Providence can overturn man’s plans altogether, and 
wishes with all his heart that when the King’s physician 
returns from Hever Castle he will bring the report of the 
Lady Anne’s death ! 

And the King, in his fear of death, prays for for- 
giveness, and is loving and tender to the Queen, to the joy 
of her heart. 

The Emperor’s Ambassador at the King’s court sends a 
special dispatch to his master, and the Cardinal sends a 
special messenger to his Holiness, apprising them of this 
new feature in the King’s life. 

And Wolsey rejoices and devoutly thanks God. 


/ 


186 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 
master norris ? s infatuation. 

It is nearly a year since the dreaded “sweating sickness” 
swept through England, Scotland and Ireland, devastating 
thousands. Then it leaped to the Continent, where it is 
even now ravaging the Low countries. 

The Earl and his daughter are both recovered and again 
at court. 

Percy and I were soon withdrawn from Hever Castle, 
as soon as his Majesty got over his panic, for I think the 
Countess secretly informed him that it would be judicious, 
for the Countess would not have her schemes interfered 
with of Anne’s becoming Queen for anything. 

Percy was inconsolable at being withdrawn, for he was 
in heaven when with Anne, while I only had a second 
place, but there, who would not be glad to have any place 
in her sweet regard? 

Master Henry Norris is his Majesty’s messenger to and 
from Anne, and he sees a good deal of her, and has many 
opportunities of confidences with her that used to be 
ours, that piques our jealousy. 

Norris is a good looking, captivating fellow, full of 
gallantry almost to recklessness; belongs to the King’s 
bedchamber staff and is a general favorite with all. I 
know he pities Queen Katherine from the bottom of his 
heart, and I know and can see he pities the Lady Anne, 
who is at the King’s caprice, and, if his Majesty would 
only think it, it is dangerous to throw these two together, 
for, with his highstrung nature and his knowledge of the 
King’s perfidy towards the Lady Anne, with her sore 
heart and his chivalrous nature, it causes a confidence 
to spring up between them that could become dangerous. 


Master Norris’s Infatuation. 


187 


He has told her of the King’s change towards the Queen, 
of Wolsey’s fostering it and discrediting her, and it causes 
a hatred from her towards the Cardinal that she never 
forgives. 

If she has had any liking for the King at all, I am sure 
it is killed out of her nature, for she can see what a cow- 
ardly and mean character he has under the plausible blan- 
dishments he always meets her with, but poor, dear little 
heart, who is to lead her out of the gulf of fate that seems 
to surround her? 

As death has passed from the King’s realm, its terror 
passes from the royal Henry, and it only takes a sight of 
the Lady Anne’s beautiful face, made still more beautiful 
from her recent sickness, than all his passion is afire again, 
while Anne is very cool towards the King. 

That makes no difference to him, for the Earl and his 
family are commanded back to court. 

Cardinal Campeggio has arrived with Pope Clement’s 
decretal all signed and sealed, ready for the judgment after 
the trial of the king’s “matter.” This has divided the 
court, for her Majesty stays at Arragon House, while the 
King chiefly stays at Bridewell, while the Lady Anne is 
at Hampton Court, where his Majesty constantly comes. 
Percy and I are in attendance upon his Majesty, but my 
sister, Mary, tells me all that happens to the Lady Anne 
when we are away. 

Master Norris has just brought the Lady Anne a let- 
ter from the King, and he finds her sitting reading, with 
my sister and Mistress Gaynsford, on the terrace, facing 
the river. 

“Thou art welcome. Master Norris,” she says, greeting 

him. 

“I am glad to see thee. Lady Anne. I am just from his 
Majesty, who may be here this night, tho’ perhaps not 
until to-morrow.” 

“I care not very much. But that is not a compliment to 
his Highness.” 

“He deserves not many at thy hands,” Norris says 
bluntly. 

“I would read what his Majesty says. Nay, go not away, 
Mistress Wyatt! For I mind not thee reading the let- 


188 


By the King’s Command. 

ter, for that matter,” she says, as Mary Wyatt and the 
others would walk away. 

Opening her letter, she reads: 

“Sweetheart : 

“The time is here when I can promise yon the full of 
all my thoughts towards you, for I have seen his Holi- 
ness’ decretal, which will bring us both joy. It only re- 
mains for the Court to remove others from me, when I 
am fully and only yours. I shall be with thee as often 
as important matters will allow. Farewell, sweetheart, my 
thoughts are constantly about thee. Henry. 

“Given at our Palace at Bridewell, 

“May 20th, 1529.” 


She lays the letter on her lap, and looks pensively out 
towards the river. 

“What is the matter; why so sad; no ill news?” Norris 
says to her. 

“Yes and no. The letter carries in it the elements of 
sadness and gladness.” 

“Then by thy countenance the sadness must predom- 
inate,” he says. 

“Thou mayest read and judge,” she says, as Mary Wyatt 
and Mistress Gaynsford walk away down the terrace. 

“Thou art sweetly confiding,” he says gallantly. 

“Thank you. But sit down, and I will hold the letter 
carelessly this way, and you can read it without my hand- 
ing it to you; for I suspicion Will Somers who is con- 
stantly nosing around, and I am sure would report such 
a matter to his Master an he see it,” Anne says, as she 
holds the letter open sideways. 

Taking a seat beside her, Norris reads the King’s letter, 
which makes him look gravely before him, as he under- 
stands the King’s meaning. 

“Now thou art all gravity, Master Norris. Of what art 
thou thinking?” she asks. 

“Of thy dear self!” he says, with tender earnestness. 

“Have a care! Thou art forgetting thyself with thy 
warmth of friendship.” 


Master Norris’s Infatuation. 


189 


“No ! No ! Dear Lady Anne, I am not ! To be true 
to yon, to properly advise with yon, is for me to talk 
more strongly than I have done in that single sentence.” 

“Hush ! Have a care ! What madness for ns if thon 
art heard,” she says qnickly. 

“Not madness, Lady Anne, bnt devoted earnestness 
towards one, whom the King is nnworthy of, with his in- 
sane passion, and the second rate gift of his nnchaste 
self; his nnholy self, Lady Anne, that he offers yon, who 
art too mire to defile yonrself with his amonrs,” Norris 
says wiux burning energy. 

“I like him not, as thou knowest, Master Norris; bnt 
what am I to do with the pitfall that is made for me?” 
Anne asks. 

“Let the thought of him die to yon ! He is nnworthy thy 
sweet heart, that was made to respond to the heart beatings 
of a holy fire that burns for thee ; and if it means the sacri- 
fice of my head I will tell thee this,” and he foolishly 
moves to put his arm about her. 

“It surely w r ould be this, and a terrible disaster to us both 
if thou wert seen ; and although I am not ill pleased at thy 
earnestness, yet be more discreet in thy actions, or we are 
undone,” Anne says, with her wits about her. 

“Nay, Lady Anne, listen to me.” 

“I will if thou wilt compose thyself !” she says, calming 
him with her caution. 

“Then I am composed ! But think of his Majesty’s per- 
fidy to thee ! He has cajoled the Queen into believing thee 
madly in love with him. I heard him when thou wert lying 
sick, and he in fear of the deadly plague. Some of us hoped 
the plague would smite him, but the heavenly Jesu must 
have spared him to repent of his sins. And canst thou 
think even mildly of one who would hold thee up to his wife 
as an enticer to sin ?” he says with truthful earnestness. 

“He did not ! He could not ! Thou art wild ! Why, 
the King would slay thee for saying half of what thou hast ! 
Shame on thee, to tell me this !” she cries, deeply wounded. 

“Shame on him, Lady Anne, and that treacherous Car- 
dinal to aid him in doing so !” and Norris moves towards 
her again, as he sees how deeply stung she is, with the. 
cruelty of the King’s perfidy. 


190 


By the King’s Command. 

But the Lady Anne is too quick for him, and rises with 
outstretched hand to keep him from her. 

“I love you, Lady Anne ! I love you !” he whispers, 
hoarsely whispers, as he dares to stand before her, and takes 
his life in his hands in the telling. “Thou art adorable ! 
Thy beauty, thy worth, thy goodness ; oh, thy natural love- 
liness is irresistible ! I have come to thee these many 
months, and each time I have come, vowing I would, I 
must tell thee ! And now I have ! And the mighty God in 
heaven break you from that lustful beast, and give you to 
me who would die to save you !” he says, with all the fervor 
of his soul. 

Flushed and stung to the soul, she stands before him in 
mighty agitation; in such agitation that she scarcely sees 
the crafty dwarf come sidling towards them. She has 
scarcely time to collect her wits, and say, “Peace, Master 
Norris, we are observed !” when the dwarf comes up to 
them. 

Neither of them know how much he has seen or heard, 
and they both know that he is a malicious imp of the devil, 
and perfectly devoted to his master. He has not seen much, 
and he has not heard anything, but he says, noticing their 
smothered agitation, “WTiy, Master Norris, thou lookest so 
earnest with the Lady Anne, that one would think thou 
hast lost heavily with her in a wager, and hast nothing to 
pay with.” 

“I was wagering, fool, and have not lost, for I was wager- 
ing the Lady Anne that the King would again beat thee 
within a week for failing to hatch quips witty enough to 
raise a laugh, and she has dared to take the wager,” he says, 
as his good angel comes to his rescue with his wits. 

This is a sore point with Will Somers, to allude to the 
King’s beatings, and so he cuttingly answers: “She shows 
her good judgment, Master Care-taker-of-his-Majesty’s- 
clothes ! In handling thy master’s empty clothes, thou 
thinkest thou art serving a King, when thou art only as use- 
ful to him as a tailor’s goose to groom them ; whilst I fur- 
nish the man with wit, and so hearty, that he sometimes 
gets so forceful as to stop me to save his sides from crack- 
ing.” 

“Thy ear looked like a cherry only yesterday from his 


Master Norris’s Infatuation. 


191 


forceful humor, an he touch it again thou canst hang it at 
the end of thy cap for a bauble,” Norris replies banteringly. 

“The King’s love will never touch thee so miraculously, 
but later may prune that part of thee that wags that tongue 
of thine so indiscreetly,” and the dwarf leers at them so 
maliciously that they wonder how much he knows. 

As they move away together towards the palace, the 
dwarf watches them keenly, as he mutters : “If Master J ack- 
a-napes is not hatching some spicy thing with his Majesty’s 
pet, I am much mistaken ; and I will ferret it out, or I am 
no fool.” 

Norris gets no further opportunity to talk with the Lady 
Anne until late in the afternoon, when he finds her reading 
in the King’s special audience room, that used to be the 
Cardinal’s. 

Quietly leaning over her shoulder he lets his cheek brush 
her beautiful hair, and the temptation is too great, and his 
heart goes wild with his love, for he kisses her, as he says, 
“Hast thou considered what I said to thee this morning ?” 

She is on her feet in an instant, and facing him with 
flaming face. But when she sees the great depth of his 
love, and what he will risk for her, it calms her resentment, 
as she answers him, “I have considered it well, Master Nor- 
ris, and thy actions make it certain that I am deciding well 
when I tell thee it is impossible, for thou art indiscreet with 
thyself to rashness.” 

“Meet me not that way ! Indiscreet I may be, but thou 
art the loving cause ! These many months thou hast taught 
me to love thee, to love thee for thy dear self ! Thou hast 
taken my whole heart captive, and if I am rash, it is the 
rashness of jealousy that would save thee from a fiend, to 
make a paradise for thee who art only fit for it !” he says. 

She can see and read the honest purpose of his soul, how 
virgin and loving his nature ; how grand and tremendous a 
love that is backed with the mighty purposes of salvation. 

“Let me save you for me, dear Anne!” he pleadingly 
whispers. 

“But the King ! He would slay thee ! Perhaps he 
would me !” she says. 

“We will not let him ! We will fly together ! You are 
too precious to me to be sacrificed to a perjured brute. 


192 


By the King’s Command. 

What has he ahead for you? Will he treat you better than 
Queen Katherine ? If he can put her away, what can be in 
store for you an he tires of you ? He would trump up some 
devil’s charge, and it fail, he would by that time be suffi- 
ciently advanced in wickedness to have you slain.” Norris 
speaks this in the intensity of his passion, and is eloquent 
in his appeal. 

“But the King vows he loves me !” she says. 

“He has vowed the same to many another, to Queen Kath- 
erine, to thy sister Mary. Oh, Anne ! You do not believe 
his lies ? Believe a true heart that adores you !” 

They have been so busily engaged in themselves that they 
have not noticed a hustle in the court-yard and the arrival 
of his Majesty. The dwarf has. He also has heard a little 
of what they are saying to each other, and the King’s arrival 
is opportune for him. 

His Majesty is all eagerness to see Lady Anne, and the 
crafty dwarf informs him where to find her, without giving 
him any explanation, and he follows his royal master, to see 
the result. 

A noise in the passage is heard, as the King comes to his 
audience room, and the voice of his Majesty is heard, ask- 
ing questions as he comes. 

“My God ! What shall we do?” Norris says in agony. 

“This way, quick, without a sound !” Anne says, pulling 
Master Norris after her, as she makes her way to the Car- 
dinal’s secret way down to the Chapel, and the secret panel 
scarcely closes on them, when his Majesty enters the room. 

“Why, what is this ? Where are they, fool ? Didst not 
say they were here ?” he says. 

“Yes, TJncle, she was here with Master Norris, and their 
conversation would have interested you had you heard it !” 
he says maliciously. 

“Well, where are they, then ? There is no way out but 
the way I came in,” and his Majesty goes knocking round 
the room to no purpose. 

“Thou art a useless little varlet ! A little no account !” 
and his Majesty grabs at him to box his ears, when he runs 
for his life from the room and all but falls into the arms 
of the Lady Anne, coming to greet the King. 

“Oh, Lord! Oh, dear! Now I am scatter-wit^ and 


Master Norris’s Infatuation. 


193 


brainless !” he says, as he sidles up to the wall, to let her 
pass, and as she does so, he puts out his hand and touches 
her softly, to see if she is flesh and blood, and then goes his 
way scratching his head in his perplexity. 

The Lady Anne led Master Norris down to the chapel, 
and before she let him pass through, says, “We are both 
saved from the King’s anger. I value thy confidence, but I 
am irresistibly led to this fate, and must fight my own bat- 
tle since one I loved is dead to me, and I cannot love an- 
other!” and Norris knows she is alluding to the Lord 
Henry Percy. 

“I would it were different! Great God! I would it 
were different !” he replies. 

“Be my true friend, Master Norris ? I may need it with 
thy loving sympathy.” 

“Until death, Lady Anne !” he says reverently. 

“Then I shall haste to greet the King, and you be found 
where you ought, an he call you.” 

Hastening back to the audience room, the Lady Anne 
meets the dwarf, as we have seen, and enjoys the fact of 
his discomfiture, for she can see that he is chagrined at see- 
ing her. 

“I heard thou wast here! Will Somers said that he 
heard thee in conversation!” his Majesty says, looking 
sharply for her reply. 

“I am here, Sire. Will must be getting unreliable !” she 
says with such composure that his Majesty is wholly at ease, 
as he says : 

“Thou art glad to see me?” 

“I am always glad to see thee, Sire.” 

“What of my letter? Wilt thou give thyself wholly to 
me?” and he tilts her face up towards him, caressing her 
head. “Pretty hair ! Pretty face ! Oh, thine eyes are 
lovely, hut somehow they won’t look mine!” 

“Queen Katherine is thy wife, Sire.” 

“Cardinal Campeggio has the divorce decretal. I have 
seen it, signed and sealed by his Holiness.” 

“Show me it, Sire.” 

“I cannot until after the court’s ruling, then I shall 
have it.” 

“Does a court have to decide upon the judgment of the 


194 By the King’s Command. 

Holy Father? He is, I thought, above all courts,” Anne 
asks 6imply. 

“He is. But this is for the sake of the realm, for you 
are to be Queen.” 

“I cannot understand,” she says. 

“This will make all England see the justice of it. But 
I am more interested that thou love me wholly, Anne: Dost 
thou love me ?” 

“I am learning to, Sire.” 

“How slow thou art! My love is to madness! I can- 
not do without thee ! But where is Master Norris ?” he 
says, looking at her keenly. “I want him for to return 
to Bridewell.” 

She takes no notice of his enquiry about Master Norris, 
but looks up into his face and studies him. 

“Master Norris is coming, Sire!” the Lord Percy re- 
ports at the door. 


Their Majesties’ Divorce Trial. 195 


CHAPTEK XXIV. 

THEIR MAJESTIES’ DIVORCE TRIAL. 

It is the 21st of June in the year of our Lord 1529, and 
nothing is talked of but the Divorce Trial of their Majes- 
ties. The King and Queen of England being tried in a 
church court, by two ecclesiastics, and one of them a for- 
eigner. 

Percy and I have nothing to do, as all things centre 
around the Dominican Hall of the Black Friars, where the 
trial is to be held ; and we decide to move around among the 
crowd and hear public opinion express itself, whilst we 
await the coming of their Majesties and the court. 

A frightful crowd has gathered in the vicinity of the 
Black Friars, and one would think all England was there, 
so great is the crush; and the City “Watch” have their 
hands full in maintaining order. 

We join the captain of the “Watch” at the entry, and lis- 
ten to, and observe the vast throng, that express themselves 
freely upon King and Cardinal. 

“It is an ill day when the likes of King Hal will sit at 
the feet of a foreign priest and be tried like the meanest 
of us,” and the speaker, a weaver’s wife, shakes her head 
dolefully. 

“Oh, it’s that butcher Cardinal, who has been ruling us 
these many years. It is good for him he sent his men into 
Kent to collect his tax levies, for if he had showed his own 
nose, the men of Kent swore they would send him to sea 
in a leaky boat, and I would have helped them.” This 
comes from Master Hepburn, an innkeeper of the city, 
that we all know. 


196 


By the King’s Command. 

“Wolsey has ruined trade with his war scare with the 
Emperor Charles/* says little Master Clackton, the court 
tailor. 

“He helps the King steal from the monasteries, and pre- 
tends to found Universities with the money, and builds pal- 
aces for himself/* a mendicant friar bitterly says. 

“He is a thief, for look at York House, and Hampton 
Court; and he cannot get along without hundreds in his 
household, when he was only the son of a butcher/* another 
says. 

“Butchers are not so bad, and I think I should make a 
good looking Cardinal/* says a beefy looking fellow with a 
shiny red face, that makes them all laugh. 

“Ah, but he is the very devil at revenge, for look at the 
poor Duke of Buckingham. He was the Queen*s stanch 
friend, and when the Duke was holding the basin for his 
Majesty to wash his hands, Wolsey poked his in too ; and the 
Duke threw the water all over his feet. The idea of a 
Duke holding office to him as a valet ! When the Emperor 
Charles named him ‘The butcher’s cur/ he was right. Wol- 
sey never rested till he brought the Duke to the block.** 

“But what about the trial ? Has King Hal got tired of 
our good Queen ?** 

“You must be from the ‘Fens* and don’t come to town 
very often, my good man,” the little tailor replies. “Why, 
the Queen is at the age where she does not tickle the King’s 
fancy enough, but I thought that kings did not have to di- 
vorce their wives for such a trifle as that; and especially 
King Hal, when he is such a gallant among the ladies !** and 
the little tailor winks his eye so comically as to cause a 
hearty laugh, that makes some of the old market dames 
snap their eyes. 

“Then why does he want to make the Earl of Wiltshire’s 
daughter Queen?” calls another. 

“That is the Cardinal’s revenge, to spite the Emperor 
Charles. You know at the last election for Pope, the Em- 
peror cheated Wolsey; and he is injuring his aunt, our 
good Queen, to spite him.” 

“Public opinion is not far wrong, Thomas ! But let us 
in, for the court is filling rapidly,” Percy says to me, and 
we both enter and take our places. 


Their Majesties’ Divorce Trial. 197 

Her Majesty has been up since sunrise, and many times 
through the night, for prayer. She has donned her habit 
of the St. Francis order of nuns, and wears her royal robes 
over it. There is a regal dignity in her slender, stately 
figure, and a queenly look in her regular features, as she 
meets her counsellors. Bishop Fisher of Rochester; Master 
Griffith, her Receiver General; Father Forest and a few 
others. 

“Your Majesty is calm this morning,” Donna Elvira 
says. 

“I need calmness, my friend. Are there no dispatches? 
Ho answer to my appeal to his Holiness, to have my cause 
tried by himself ?” 

“There is a letter from Cardinal Pole, but none from the 
Holy Father or the Emperor.” 

“Give the letter to me. But, ah ! I am glad to see thee !” 
her Majesty says as the Bishop of Rochester comes in, fol- 
lowed by the others. “Thou art welcome, my lord, and 
dear friends. We have to face a great thing this day, for 
they will try to prove the Queen of England, twenty years 
married to her husband, not a wedded wife. And I am 
ready to tell them different. And the blessed Mother of 
God will be with me, I know,” the Queen says, with dignity. 

“Thou hast a Christian courage, and I am here to, if 
needs be, give my poor life for your Grace !” and the white- 
haired old bishop kneels and kisses her hands. 

“And I, and I !” say they all. And this one bishop of 
all the bishops of the realm, a few dependents and priests 
kneel round their queenly mistress and pledge themselves 
with their lives against the great Ecclesiastical Court of 
England, who are about to sit in judgment, with a mock 
trial to depose and divorce a virtuous Queen, to please and 
gratify the lust of her husband. 

But meanwhile the Court of the Black Friars is filling 
with the very aristocracy of the realm. Scaffoldings and 
galleries with benches have been erected to accommodate the 
great throng, and his Majesty’s wish to court publicity has 
certainly been fulfilled. 

Two great chairs covered with tapestry are set for the 
Cardinal Judges. Two canopied thrones, one on each side 
of the judges, are placed for their Majesties. Below them 


198 


By the King’s Command. 

are the benches for the bishops, abbots and doctors of the 
church, and tables with benches for the secretaries. 

Percy and I have joined the Earl of Shrewsbury, and Sir 
Thomas More, in the body of the court. 

“Will her Majesty appear, think you?” Sir Thomas says. 

“She has not heard from her appeal to the Holy Father, 
so I think she will,” the Earl replies. 

“They could easily stop his Holiness 5 messenger. The 
Cardinal stopped one of her servants that she sent to the 
Emperor/ 5 Percy whispers. 

“It is an ignoble thing to attack a weak woman/ 5 1 reply. 

“Then I admire thee for saying that, Master Wyatt/ 5 Sir 
Thomas says, with fervor, for we all are devoted to the 
Queen. 

“Wolsey is advising her Majesty to enter a convent. 
They think, because she is a godly woman, and wears a 
nun’s habit, she is a nun ; but her Majesty treats the Car- 
dinal with scorn, and I admire her/ 5 the Earl says. 

But the court is convening, and all rise as they enter. 
First come the most famous doctors of the law in the land, 
with the secretaries, all in purple gowns. Then abbots, 
mitred priors and bishops, a great array, in their gorgeous 
ecclesiastical vestments. Then the two Cardinals, in all 
their red regalia, Campeggio with a halting gait from the 
gout, while Wolsey is erect and majestic, as with haughty 
bearing he walks the length of the great hall, and takes 
his seat, with all the outward appearance of one conscious 
of his position and dignitv as a prince of the church. 
Secretly, underneath the brave showing, the Cardinal is 
thinking : “If only this old gouty Campeggio were not here 
I should have a better showing. What if his Holiness 
has instructed him to thwart me secretly? If so, I shall 
fall ; and if I fall now, I shall never rise again. 55 

But the King comes in, and all again arise. He is at- 
tended by a royal guard, that stays at the entrance. He is 
accompanied by some of the Privy Councillors, and he 
walks the length of the great hall leaning on the arm of 
the Duke of Suffolk. They certainly look a goodly pair, 
though I doubt whether the world contains shrewder 
men who would gain their own ends by any means, how- 
ever unjust, and seemingly enjoy the doing of it. 


Their Majesties’ Divorce Trial. 199 

But here comes her Majesty ! All rise with alacrity, 
and anyone can see from the way they do it, that the whole 
assemblage is with her. She is attired in royal purple 
and ermine, and looks majestic as she leans on the arm 
of Master Griffith, and walks to her seat as the Queen of 
England should. 

After a few preliminaries, the Crier of the Court stands 
forth, and lustily calls “Henry, King of England, come 
into the court !” 

Seated under his canopy, the King responds: “Here!” 
then rising to his feet says : “I am here, some of you 
think, to put away my wife as a light matter; but that is 
far from my intention. For some time God’s holy law — 
which kings above all others should set the example of 
obeying — hath been urging me to a conscientious duty; 
having condemned me heavily fa* ever marrying Queen 
Katherine, who was my brother Arthur’s wife. 

“As you know, the judgment of Heaven has fallen upon 
our union. Our three sons have died in infancy, and to- 
day there is no male heir to the throne of England. 
Queen Katherine is a good, virtuous, and loving wife, and 
always has been. It grieveth me sorely to part from her, 
but that is the only course pointed out by Holy Writ to 
soothe my conscience; and I am here to leave it to God’s 
holy Church, now sitting as his Holiness’ representa- 
tives here assembled, to decide what is to be done for my 
peace of mind. Some think his Eminence, Cardinal Wol- 
sey, hath urged this matter on, but his Grace is innocent 
of any such thought ; having strongly persuaded 
me against it. But I stand here alone upon a con- 
scientious matter, before the holy Jesu, seeking for 
a remedy that may bring me ease to my troubled con- 
science;” and the King resumes his seat, amid the death- 
like hush that has fallen upon all, for all are weighing 
the King’s words, as they remember his life. 

The silence is broken by the crier, as he calls, cr Kath- 
erine, Queen of England, come into court.” 

The Queen rises and with gentle dignity says, “I am 
here to protest against the legality of this court, whose 
judges are prejudiced against me, where counsel is denied 
me, and where I almost stand alone without any to defend 


200 


By the King’s Command. 

me. The good God knows that I am the wife of King 
Henry, made so by holy Church, and to his Holiness him- 
self I appeal, and will only abide by his decision,” and 
her Majesty resumes her seat, and we are proud of her. 

This is a feature that has come to the Cardinals, that 
they do not know what to do with. But Wolsey sees the 
King’s face, and knows that he will hold him responsible 
if nothing is done, and so to confuse the Queen, and if pos- 
sible break her decision in appealing personally to his 
Holiness, ignoring the whisperings of Campeggio, he says, 
“Master Crier, do your duty.” 

Again the crier lustily calls, “Katherine, Queen of Eng- 
land, come into court!” 

We hold our breath at this action of the Cardinal. 
But the Queen cannot be put down so easily, for she rises, 
makes the circuit of the judges, and comes to the King, 
and kneeling before him says, “Sire, I beseech you, pity 
me, a woman and a stranger bom out of your dominions ! 
I beseech you ! For all the love there has been between 
us, and for the love of God, let me have some justice! 
Alas ! Alas ! I take God to witness that I have been to you 
a true, humble and obedient wife. I have been pleased in 
all things wherein you had delight. I have loved all you 
loved, even if only for your sake. These twenty years 
as your true wife, God has given us divers children; and 
you cannot charge it upon me that He has called them out 
of the world. I came to you as a virgin, and if there is 
any true offence alleged against me, I consent to depart 
with infamy; if not, Sire, I beg you give me justice.” 

She looks so pathetic, so good, just as she nobly is, as 
she looks up into the King’s face, that the court is in 
tears, as she begs for the return of her husband’s love; 
and Sir Thomas More says to me, “Wyatt, why doesn’t 
the King gather that dear woman into his arms and end 
this mockery of law ?” 

But the King is unmoved, though his face expresses 
that he is uncomfortable ; for he acts as if he doesn’t know 
what to do, as he doesn’t even offer to raise the Queen from 
her knees. 

With a weary heart the poor Queen rises, and motioning 
to her ladies to follow her, takes the arm of Griffith and 


Their Majesties’ Divorce Trial. 201 

walks towards the entrance. This is far from what Wolsey 
wants. It is the undoing of him to be ignored. He raps 
his desk with his staff as he calls, “Master crier, do your 
duty !” 

The crier lustily calls again and again, “Katherine, 
Queen of England, come into court !” 

'“Madam* you are called back,” Griffith says, as he 
would detain her. 

“I hear it well enough ! On, sir ! Go you on ! This is 
no place of justice for me, when his Majesty, my husband, 
turns a deaf ear to me !” and she tarries not. 

“God bless your Majesty !” Sir Thomas More says, as 
we, with many others, follow the Queen to the door. 

There is dreadful confusion in and out of the court, for 
the mob gets to know it, and just yell themselves hoarse to 
see the King and Queen ; while they shout defiance against 
the Cardinals. 

His Majesty has to come out to pacify them, when they 
greet him with “King Hal and Queen Kate for us !” 
“Down with all foreign priests !” “Down with Wiltshire’s 
daughter!” and with only a slender guard, he is glad to 
get back to Bridewell. 

Sending a strong guard to protect Suffolk House, he 
has the Earl of Wiltshire’s family come to Bridewell. It 
is well he does, for the mob is turbulent, as they gather 
outside and burn the Lady Anne in effigy ; then two Cardi- 
nals, so that they show they have as great a dislike for 
Campeggio as Wolsey. 

In the evening they come to Bridewell and clamor to 
see the King and Queen together. His Majesty’s apart- 
ments are the river side of the palace, and the Lady Anne 
is with him; wdiilst her Majesty’s are the street side, and 
she sees the terrible mob clamoring for them. 

Stepping to the window, she bows to them, but that does 
not satisfy them. 

“What do they want, Lady Mary ?” she says to the Count- 
ess of Northumberland. 

“They want to see his Majesty with you.” 

“Then I will be their messenger and call him,” the Queen 
says, moved with their loyalty. 

Passing swiftly to his Majesty’s apartments, she finds 


202 


By the King’s Command. 

Henry Norris keeping the King’s door. Norris, knowing 
who is with his Majesty, bars her way, so as to first an- 
nounce her, bnt her Majesty meets him with a look as she 
says, “Do yon dare ?” and pushes past him. 

Imagine her astonishment when she sees the King with 
the Lady Anne upon his knees and she struggling to free 
herself. 

The Lady Anne sees the Queen first, and with a gasp of 
horror frees herself as she faces her Majesty, her face 
aflame in her shame ! 

The King changes color as he sees his wife, and says, 
“Hello, Kate, I thought you were busy with your maidens.” 

“I was, Sire, till your subjects made me their messen- 
ger in their desire to see us together. Almost the whole of 
London are at our doors clamoring for this; and they are 
so forceful that I promised them to call you myself.” 

“I heard them not,” the King says, confused. 

“I am afraid not. Sire. Thy ears were listening to a 
wanton.” 

“I will accompany you,” he says, and they go out to- 
gether; his Majesty excusing not the Lady Anne, hut leav- 
ing her alone, with the shame of the Queen’s stigma ring- 
ing in her ears, and she to face the courtiers who have seen 
the King and Queen pass out together, and must guess 
closely what has occurred. 

She drinks deeply in those few moments the bitterness 
and gall of her bitter life, and the Queen’s words burn in 
her brain, and all from the one who should defend her, and 
calls himself her lover. 

Coming to the door she sees Norris, whose face speaks 
the anguish of grand nobility, and she almost wishes she 
had fled with him. 

Cynical looks, supercilious glances of pleasure from 
some, stolidity from others, are the countenances that meet 
her, as she looks the crowd over for her father. He is not 
there, hut some one is to befriend her. 

The moment she hesitates, Earl Percy is at her side, and 
gallantly offers his arm as he says, “Lady Anne, what are 
your wishes ?” 

“My father* my lord.” 

“He is not here.” 


Their Majesties’ Divorce Trial. 203 

“I will go to our apartments/* she says, trying to be 
brave while her voice trembles. 

Proudly he leads her through the throng to her father’s 
apartments, and at the door looks lovingly into her eyes 
that are filled with anguish. 

“God will bless you, Percy !” 

“My angel darling, may He bless you l” and he gathers 
her into his arms and kisses her tenderly, and she does 
not hinder him. 

In her room she flings herself upon her couch and calls 
his name, as she realizes the awful void in her life that he 
alone can fill. 

The mob shout themselves tired at seeing the King and 
Queen together, and are content ; and the King gets the ex- 
pression of his people on his divorce. 

A messenger with dispatches arrives from the House of 
Commons, with a memorial from the House, praying the 
King to return to the Queen, whom they all love. 

The next day the Earl of Wiltshire and entire house- 
hold return to Hever Castle upon word from the King, 
and they know they are banished from court. And the 
Lady Anne is glad. 


204 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTEE XXY. 

BY THE KING’S COMMAND. 

“What makes your Highness look so gloomy to-day ?” 
the Duke of Suffolk enquires, as he comes into the King’s 
troom about two weeks later than the events already nar- 
rated. 

His Majesty has just risen and looks anything but in a 
good humor, and it is because he has taken no notice of 
the Duke’s presence that he asks him the question. 

“What is there to make me otherwise? All are against 
me. The Queen, the Commons, the people, his Holiness, 
Wolsey, aye, even Sir Thomas More, who has had more 
of my favors than many others ; and all try and browbeat 
me to doing that which is a detestation to me. And they 
have driven from me my dear little friend, and,” the King 
hesitates a moment, when the Duke supplies the words, 
“You are the King , Sire.” 

“Ah, I had almost forgotten !” 

“It is a good time to have some of them remember it, 
Sire,” the Duke says. 

“Egad, I will do so ! But the divorce ! See how the 
Cardinal dallies with me !” 

“But you are the King, Sire !” the Duke says, with a 
determined emphasis. 

“But Wolsey is a power in the Church, and there are 
many things that have to be done to get his Holiness to 
do as I wish,” the King replies, in an undecided way. 

“Tell Wolsey that if he does not your bidding in this 
matter, you can do without him, Sire.” 

“But could I ? He hangs on to Katherine to break me 
from my dear little Boleyn, and I take such comfort with 


205 


By the King’s Command. 

her sweet ways, for she is just after my own heart, and a 
perfect little daredevil in courage,” he says, admiringly. 

“Have her back. Sire. I wouldn’t be ridden by a priest !” 
the Duke says. 

“Will she come? Look what the fools made me do to 
her ! The Cardinal had better have a care ; he is going too 
far with me !” and the King’s anger rises. 

“I would ride down to Hever Castle; it will do your 
Highness good.” 

“I will do so. But will the little witch see me? Why 
once before she refused, and would not show herself, and 
the old Countess couldn’t coax her to do so, though she 
tried hard enough, for the Countess is a friend of mine,” 
the enamoured King rattles on, his gloom all gone at the 
thought of seeing Anne again. “Master Wyatt, have the 
horses ready, and you may accompany me !” And I give the 
orders while his Majesty gets ready. 

It is a glorious ride this early July, for his Majesty 
rides fast to keep pace with his enamoured feelings, and his 
horse shows it as we come to the rise at Westerham, and he 
has to walk it. 

Coming through the gates of the castle, the old Seneschal 
informs him that the Lady Anne, with the Countess, is 
walking in the flower garden, and “shall he announce his 
Highness’ presence to the Earl?” 

“No !” the King says, emphatically. “Take the horses. 
Master Wyatt, and let them find me an they want to see 
me. But announce me to no one !” And the King makes 
off to find his lady love. 

Walking in the garden, plucking the fragrant blossoms, 
two weeks gone from the harassments of court life, and 
the atmosphere of nerve harrowing jealousies that her try- 
ing position brought her, the Lady Anne looks certainly 
the personification of beauty and could pose as “Aurora,” 
the goddess of the morning, though there is a soreness at 
her heart. 

Her hands are filled with pink roses, some are laid in 
her bosom on a snowy white gown that has a sweeping 
train, and as she stands leaning over a bush, with the 
Countess beside her, neither of them observe his Majesty, 
who tiptoes gently towards them, and they see him not till 


206 


By the King’s Command. 

"he is right close to them, when the Countess starts with 
surprise, that brings Anne face to face with the King. 

With both hands held out he says, “My little sweet- 
heart!” but Anne regards them not, and both ladies drop 
upon their knees before him, according to court usages, 
which the King won’t have, for he says, “Rise, my lady,” 
and he lifts the Lady Anne right off the ground to his 
lips, and sets her not down till he has kissed her. 

“I should kneel to thee! I do kneel to thee!” he says, 
kneeling before her. “Forgive me, dear sweetheart ! Sweet 
love, forgive me ! Anne, dear Anne !’ he pleads to her. 

Holding her little hand, his great handsome eyes search- 
ing her very soul, he looks so sorrowful, so full of love 
towards her, it is hard to resist him. 

But she says, “Rise, I beg of you, Sire, for I cannot see 
the King of England thus.” 

“Not till you forgive me,” he urges. 

“I am thy subject, Sire, and remember you are his 
Majesty.” 

“Thou art the darling of my heart, and I am thy lover.” 

“Nay, Sire ! Thou art Queen Katherine’s husband !” 

The Countess walks discreetly away, as she has heard 
enough to know this is a happy state for her prospects, 
and leaves them alone together. 

“Then I am not forgiven !” he says dolefully. 

“His Majesty does as he pleases, who commands his 
subjects.” 

“Be my queen, and command me! I will blindly obey 
thee!” he says, infatuated. 

“Queen Katherine does that, Sire. I am obeying her 
Majesty’s commands, that you have laid upon us.” 

“Oh, thou art cruel, Anne !” 

“Am I, Sire ? Then I humbly beg your Majesty’s par- 
don, and beg you to leave me.” 

“I am pleading at thy feet. See me on my knees, dear 
Anne.” 

“It is to my distress, Sire.” 

“Then I will not distress thee,” he says, rising, and 
would pass his arm about her, but she resists, as she walks 
at his side. 

“Nay ! Do not walk to the castle ! I have much to tell 


207 


By the King’s Command. 

thee ! I am here to have thee back ! Dost thou not pity 
me? Why, darling, I am distracted, and more so since 
they drive yon from me ! But, by the mighty God, I will 
show them I am King if I slay some of them!” he says 
vindictively. 

“Your Majesty’s troubles would end if you leave me out 
of your thoughts.” 

“Goad me not to madness, Anne ! Have pity on me ! 
I have thought of thee, and my soul hath pined for thee 
every hour since thou hast been from my side !” 

“Why should I be banished ? What have I done, Sire, to 
merit it? Her Majesty’s charge was terrible, seeing that 
before the holy Jesu I am guiltless of such an awful thing. 
I could not be thy friend, Sire, and guilty.” 

“Thou art too pure ! I am a wretch to thee ! Thou art 
right to banish me! I am unworthy of thee, Anne, but 
thou shalt be Queen, as thou art soul of my soul in cour- 
age, though I am not thy equal ; thou lovely darling !” and 
his Majesty pulls her gently down on a seat by his side, and 
takes the roses from her hands and lays them against her 
cheeks, and looks into her eyes. “I am forgiven ! No 
such dear eyes as thine can resist my appeal ! You almost 
unman me, Anne ! Oh, I cannot live without thee ! God 
made thee for a throne and we will share it together!” he 
says, tenderly, almost in tears. 

Anne feels the resentment passing away from her as the 
King’s arguments and sincerity brush it away, for who 
could resist the burning love shining from his eyes, and his 
persistent pleading? 

“But his Grace, the Cardinal, rules you. Sire. I am here 
by his entreaties. He holds the key to your happiness, 
Sire, and will not deliver it to you.” 

“Others tell me this beside yourself, and I see I am 
forgiven.” 

“I never told your Highness, but the Cardinal takes lib- 
erties with me.” 

“How, Anne, how?” he says sharply. 

“Just recently my equerry, Master Zouch, secured from 
my maid. Mistress Gaynsford, a book that I had lent her to 
read ; Zouch was reading it at chapel, when the Dean took 
it from him and passed it to the Cardinal. It was cer- 


208 By the King’s Command. 

tainly impertinent of the Dean to do so, when he was in- 
formed it was my book, but the Cardinal has it, and I am 
waiting his lecture, for I suppose he means to use it to 
give me one,” she says. 

“Let him dare !” the King says resentfully. 

“He does dare, Sire. He is the cause of your High- 
ness’ troubles. Both those Cardinals know that it would 
give your Highness pleasure to have the decretal of his 
Holiness, and I prophesy you will never get it, for Cardinal 
Campeggio is amusing himself mightily at your Highness’ 
expense, and goes hunting every day, and cares little for 
your matter, and Cardinal Wolsey is nearly as bad.” 

“Anne, I will have that decretal, if I take it myself 
from Campeggio’s baggage. And Wolsey will do my bid- 
ding, or I have those that are as learned as. he. Dr. 
Cranmer has posted me lately, and I will force the hands 
of those Cardinals, or they had better look out ! But you 
will come back and help me ?” 

“How can I face the Queen, Sire? How can we both 
live together? Who believes in me but your Highness?” 
she says, as the thought of the shameful scene comes to her 
mind. 

“I will make your pathway smooth, Anne. I will ally 
you to my own family. I will make you a Tudor, higher 
than your father, before all the nobles of the realm; and 
all shall see my true purpose, for I am determined to have 
my w 7 ay. But give me one little kiss? I love the feel of 
thy lips ! I have starved for this, and the days have been 
deserts to my crossing, as thou hast been absent to refresh 
my soul !” and he kisses her resentment away. 

“I w r ill trust thee again, Sire !” 

“Thou dost fill me with gladness! I cannot have thee 
return fast enough ! All my thoughts shall be for thy hap- 
piness ! Any had better be a dog than to look away from 
thee, for by the heavenly Jesu, thou art the most dear 
soul in the world to me ! I love thee, Anne ! Canst not 
see it ? I love thee !” 

We all can see the changed expression on his Highness’ 
face as, boylike, he leads her to the castle ; and how he has 
succeeded in making her change her thought towards him 


By the King’s Command. 209 

is a mystery to ns, and tells well for his skill in the art of 

love. 

“Welcome, Sire ! Thou dost honor us with thy royal 
presence,” the Earl says, bending low over the King’s 
offered hand. 

“I have come to be my own messenger, my lord. Be 
ready early to-morrow to make a journey with me, for the 
sun hath too long set in our city palace ; and Aurora must 
return!” he says, glancing lovingly at Anne. 

“The castle’s hospitality awaits you, Sire !” the Earl 
says cordially. 

“But a stirrup cup, my lord, for I shall be back in the 
morning.” 

It is quickly brought, and the Earl serves the King. 

“Not so, my lord ! Only from the hand of my fair 
friend !” he says gallantly. 

Anne takes the cup and offers it to his Majesty, and as 
she does so he stoops over and kisses her forehead, then her 
hand, as he takes the cup from her, “To my lady love’s 
return !” and he tosses it off, then puts spurs to his horse 
and gallops away, kissing his hand to her as he goes, that 
makes Anne blush under the eyes of her father, for the 
King hath never before been so affectionate before them. 

And so it is with a mighty escort of knights and ladies 
the Lady Anne returns to Shrewsbury House, and the 
giddy court has to come and make up with her. 

Here it is that a great consultation is held with Wolsey 
and Campcggio, Archbishop Warham and Dr. Cranmer, 
with others in attendance. The Lady Anne is also there, 
and the Cardinals can see that their short-lived influence 
is at an end. 

“Have you seen the Queen, and done as I commanded 
you ?” the King says to the Cardinals. 

“We labored with her Majesty a long time yesterday, 
your Highness, and she is obdurate. She will not enter a 
convent. Neither will she abide by the ruling of the 
court. Nor will she live separate from your Highness, 
until his Holiness severs her from you himself,” says Car- 
dinal Campeggio. 

“Did you show her the Holy Father’s decretal, as you 
did me?” 


210 


By the King’s Command. 

“No, Sire. That cannot be shown. I favored your 
Highness, but his Holiness will not allow it ; for it would 
be admitting a judgment before a sentence.” 

“Those churchmen are crafty. Sire,” the Duke of Suf- 
folk whispers to the King. 

“In God’s name when do you intend to give the sen- 
tence ?” the King demands angrily. 

“The law cannot be hurried, Sire. The realm has to be 
considered. England has expressed herself recently, and 
it will take time to turn the people’s opinion and change 
them to your Highness’ wishes,” Cardinal Wolsey says, to 
gain time, for he can see a storm is brewing. 

“Then damn the opinion of you and all England !” the 
King bursts out with. “Do you think I am going to wait 
longer, while you lazy priests go hunting and hawking? 
You have played with me too long, Wolsey ! Hark ye ! If 
that sentence is not forthcoming in short time I will do 
without you all, if I defy the Holy Father himself!” the 
King roars out in his rage. 

The Cardinal can see that the storm has come, and falls 
upon his knees before the King, as he falters, “Let me ex- 
plain to your Highness — I ” 

“I want no explanation ! I want despatch ! And there 
is another matter! Hast thou a book belonging to this 
dear lady” (pointing to Lady Anne) “that thou lovest to 
annoy ?” he says icily to the Cardinal. 

The Cardinal has the book in his pocket, and intended 
to use it against Anne if ever opportunity served, and so he 
says, “Yes, Sire.” 

With a black look, the King says, “Where is the vol- 
ume ?” 

“Here, Sire,” and the Cardinal produces it, offering it 
to the King. 

The King offers not to take it, until the Cardinal can see 
his meaning, when he goes and offers it to the Lady Anne 
upon bended knees. 

“I beg thy pardon, Lady Anne. My care for thy soul 
caused me to wait a fitting opportunity, when I coufd talk 
about the book with thee, and then return it,” he says hum- 
bly. 

“I am not disposed to believe your Grace,” the Lady 


211 


By the King’s Command. 

Anne says boldly, “but I do believe that mischief was 
meant from you, and that you would have misrepresented 
it to his Highness about me, as thou hast over many other 
matters.” 

Wolsey remains discreetly silent, not daring to stir up 
worse trouble, until the King says, “I shall look for a 
true solution to my ‘matter/ or I want not to see you 
again,” and the Cardinals leave the royal presence dis- 
graced. 

“What is the volume. Lady Anne ?” the King says, when 
they are gone. 

“I am glad you ask, Sire, for I wish you would read the 
book,” and the King takes the Gospels from the hand of the 
Lady Anne. 

“Is this the heretic Gospels, Dr. Cranmer?” 

“They are the Gospels, Sire, but I dub them not heretic.” 

“What do you say, my lord Archbishop?” he says to 
Dr. Warham. 

“I have read them, Sire, with some profit,” the aged 
Archbishop replies. 

“Why, this is a new feature on the matter, and I will pe- 
ruse them. But the council is ended, and I would walk in 
the garden with thee,” he says as he gives his arm to the 
Lady Anne, and they go out together. 


212 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

THE FALL OF THE GREAT CARDINAL. 

In the Cardinal's palace at York Place, two days after 
the King’s threat, Wolsey walks his private room in mental 
agitation. As he walks he thinks aloud, for he mutters as 
he paces up and down, waiting for Cardinal Campeggio 
to go with him to the great hall of the Black Friars. 

“What can we do ? What shall we do to avert the storm ? 
Campeggio doesn’t care ; it will fall on me ! But there, can 
Henry do without me? Yes, he can! He has taken my 
secretaries. He has got Stephen Gardiner ! He uses 
Thomas Cromwell, and would have him altogether, only 
the man has some spark of soul left for me ! And Percy ! 
The holy Jesu never forgive him for taking my boy from 
me ! Oh ! Henry Tudor, w T ith all thy cruelty, that is the 
worst! And all because of that syren of the King’s pas- 
sion ! May she live to curse him ! Little fool, not to see 
her neck is entering a noose ! Oh ! if I had only planned it 
differently ! They ought to have fled and got married ! But 
Henry is growing murderous ! He will stop at nothing, 
and I cannot sway that gouty dolt of a !” 

“Cardinal Campeggio, your Grace,” Master Cavendish 
announces. 

Entering the room with an halting gait the Cardinal 
comes. “Well, I hate to think we have to go and shut 
ourselves up in that great hall this beautiful day,” he says, 
grumbling as he comes. 

“We shall see later, your Eminence, for we may desire 
to go there if his Majesty’s humor claps us in the Tower,” 
Wolsey says, sententiously. 


fhe Fall of the Great Cardinal. 213 


“He would not dare treat his Holiness 5 special repre- 
sentative thus . 55 

“The Emperor Charles did not stop at imprisoning his 
Holiness / 5 Wolsey replies. 

“Well, let him. I shall carry out my instructions, and we 
shall see if the King of England will brave his Holiness and 
the Emperor Charles , 55 Campeggio replies. 

It is in this spirit that the two Cardinals repair to the 
great hall of the Black Friars. 

His Majesty attends to-day to force a conclusion, if pos- 
sible, to the Court’s proceedings, and if not, well ! 

He comes with a mighty attendance of dukes and noble 
lords, and the great hall is crowded to its utmost capacity, 
for it is mooted abroad that Wolsey will face the King’s 
wrath if a sentence is not forthcoming. 

Nearly the whole day is taken up with pleas from both 
sides relative to a decision, and then his Majesty nods to 
his Council to demand a judgment. 

His Majesty moves out to a convenient place in front of 
the two Cardinals, all eagerness for the sentence, and looks 
with eager, cruel eyes at them as they confer together. 

“The time has come when we have to do something , 55 
Wolsey whispers, anxiously. 

“I dare not decide in his Majesty’s favor ! His Holiness 
would not confirm it.” 

“Delay the matter then! Is there no excuse? Nothing 
that we can defer the sentence?” Wolsey says in mental 
agitation. 

“Let me think !” 

“It is the vacation term of Court in Borne, is it not? 
For God’s sake delay the matter if you cannot decide for 
the King, for it will be my undoing,” the Cardinal says 
with dread, “for look at the King’s eyes !” 

“Very well, that will do. I am not afraid !” Campeggio 
says. 

Bising up in his place, the Cardinal Legate says, with 
great deliberation : “Since the vacation term has com- 
menced in the Courts at Borne, for us to keep in harmony 
with the Apostolic See, we are unable to give sentence until 
after the vacation. This Court will stand adjourned until 
October,” and sits down. 


214 


By the King’s Command. 

It is as if Wolsey has received another lease of life, for 
he sighs with relief, and a faint smile of satisfaction passes 
over his face as he glances at his enemies. 

But the King’s face looks black with rage as he stands 
and scowls at the two Cardinals, who he knows have duped 
him. “God of my life, those priestly knaves !” he mutters 
angrily. 

“Wolsey triumphs over you. Sire ! He will have his way ! 
Look at him smile !” the Duke of Norfolk says aloud. 

“Sire, good never did come to merrie England whilst we 
had Cardinals to rule us !” the Duke of Suffolk says aloud, 
so loud that Wolsey hears him. 

Rising to his full height, Wolsey will not take the affront, 
but says in reply : “Sir, you should be the last to say any- 
thing against Cardinals, for I remember that had it not 
been for me, you would have no head on your shoulders to 
say what you have to us this moment.” 

“Your red frock protects you, my lord, not your loyalty 
to his Highness,” the Duke says, as he lays his hand on his 
sword. 

“I can take the red frock off him !” the King says. “I 
will be priest ridden no longer !” and he strides from the 
hall, leaving the two Cardinals to wonder what will follow. 

‘There is a great gathering at Suffolk House, where the 
King comes to the Lady Anne. “They have duped me ! 
They are playing with me ! Those treacherous knaves !” 
the King goes on in his anger. 

“Have I not told you, Sire, his Eminence hateth me! 
He will never decide for you !” 

“Why not ? Why shouldn’t he ?” 

“Because he wouldn’t offend the Emperor Charles for 
anything. Pope Clement is ailing, as thou knowest, and do 
you think. Sire, he will jeopardize his chances with the Em- 
peror of his becoming Pope? Not he, Sire! There is no 
end to his ambition !” 

“There will be, for I will make an end ! But thinkest 
the Lady Anne is right, my lords ?” 

“Yes, Sire. When Wolsey is Pope you will be his vas- 
sal !” the Duke of Norfolk boldly says. 

“Then, by the great God, he never shall be Pope ! Fetch 
me pen and paper !” 


The Fall of the Great Cardinal. 215 


The needed articles are brought and laid before his 
Majesty, who takes the pen and writes for the arrest and 
detention of Cardinal Wolsey in his own house until his 
Majesty’s further pleasure. 

Holding the paper in his hands a moment, he sayst: “I 
had better be careful ! What shall I do without him ?” 

“There are others who can serve you better, Sire!” the 
Lady Anne says warmly. 

“Who, my dear sweetheart ?” 

“Dr. Cranmer, Sire ! He has your royal matter written 
in full !” 

“Where is the Doctor ?• Ah, my Lord Archbishop !” as 
Dr. Cranmer enters, “I am glad to see you ! What can be 
done further?” he says, handing the papers to the Duke of 
Norfolk, who immediately leaves to serve them on the 
Cardinal. 

But we will return to Wolsey. 

After the trial he hastens home with the threat of the 
King in his ears. Heart sick and weary he takes his way 
to his room and follows his old habit of pacing the floor. 

Somehow his thoughts more than ever dwell on Percy, 
and, as he faces ruin and disaster, his soul craves the love 
of the only one in all the world that he really loves, for love 
won’t drown. 

In the strength of his desire, or for some numbed reason- 
ing out of balance with his condition, he hastily pens a let- 
ter to Percy to come to him, and peremptorily orders Mas- 
ter George Cavendish to bring the Earl of Northumberland 
back with him. 

Percy responds, thinking it is a matter that belonged to 
his former secretaryship with his Eminence. 

To calm his brain for this soulful interview, the Car- 
dinal has taken his office book, and his lips are re- 
citing the holy office ; and as his tall, dark form goes strid- 
ing up and down, with his face depicting his troubled soul, 
he looks like a spectre doing penance for a crime. 

Percy is no sooner announced than he strides up to him 
with a sigh of relief ; and, placing his hands on his shoul- 
ders, and looking searchingly into his eyes, he says: “I 
thought you would come !” 

“What does your Eminence want from one whom you 


216 


By the King’s Command. 

have so deeply wronged ? 55 Percy says sternly to him, draw- 
ing back and freeing the Cardinal’s hands from his shoul- 
ders. 

“Have I wronged you ? Surely your heart knows it was 
without intention !” 

“Did your Eminence send for me to discuss this matter 
with me again ? I am not here to condemn your Grace, but 
Master Cavendish urged me against my will, and I thought 
it was to do with my former service with your Grace / 5 

“Percy, you were my son , not my servant ! I sent for 
you, hoping that you would give me some of your old-time 
love that I so sorely need !” the Cardinal says, hungrily. 

“How can your Grace entertain such a hope? Do I look 
as if my breast were filled with love ? Methinks my love is 
dead and buried in the grave that thou didst dig for me, 
when thou with his M'ajesty consigned and chained me to 
a living death ! 

“And wouldst thou know more, my lord? ‘Then know 
that I have no love on earth BUT THE LADY ANNE, for 
I love her with all my soul ! And, my lord, the tiger that 
to-day is at thy throat, has torn mine, and left me only 
enough life to defend her, to whom my feeble life is con- 
secrated !” Percy says, with holy truth. 

“She whom you love so passionately is unworthy your 
great devotion, and is the cause of all our trouble / 5 the 
Cardinal replies. 

“Thou art a dastard to say it! Thy cloth protects thee 
from my vengeance ! 55 and Percy lays his hand on his 
sword. 

“I tried to break them ! She never will become Queen ! 55 

“Yes she will ! I pray daily it will be so ! Thou hast 
helped tie her to the King against her will. Every way to 
escape has been barred to her. She is so fettered and 
bound, maligned and crucified, that only one way is left for 
her to go in the path of virtue, and that is in being King 
Henry’s WIFE, for his mistress she never will be ! And 
your Grace, not I only — and it is a crime to say I love her 
— but all England blames you in this . 55 

“How can it be when I am using every means I know to 
break it off ? 55 his Grace says, despairingly. 

“Too late, my lord ! QUEEN OF ENGLAND, the Lady 


The Fall of the Great Cardinal. 217 


Anne will be. I pray God make it so ! She is cried up and 
down the streets as a wanton ! She is villified as the one 
who has wrecked the Queen’s happiness ! Thou thyself hast 
traduced her many times to thy priestly shame ! She hath 
withstood all the King’s blandishments, and made the price 
of her virtue the price of his promises to become his lawful 
wife, and his lawful wife she will be ! She is coming 
through the furnace pure, and I idolize her ; and more and 
more as I see the jewel thou hast robbed me of,” Percy says 
as he stands before his Eminence like Justice personified. 

“Remember, Percy, I favored thy suit.” 

“I know your Grace betrayed us! Thou couldst have 
saved us ! What fatherly love did you bear me when you 
stood by and helped enslave me, and did not protest against 
it ? My eyes besought you, and you refused me ! And now, 
my lord, you ask me for love? Know this, that when you 
saw me fall at thy feet, my love for thee died, and died 
forever!” he says, brokenly. 

“And now, farewell ! Never send for me again, for I 
come not to you unless upon some command of the King !” 
and he turns and walks away. 

Following him to the door with his eyes, the Cardinal 
stands and gazes after the noble heart leaving him, and two 
tears trickle their way down his cheeks, as he puts his 
hands out pleadingly, and in a hoarse 1 voice whispers, 
“Percy, come back !” 

As he stands as one in a dream, there is a commotion 
heard in the passage, and the curtains are thrust aside with 
mailed hands, and the enemy of the Cardinal, his Grace 
the Duke of Norfolk, stands before him. 

“I arrest thee in the name of the King! And thou art 
a prisoner here in this palace during the King’s pleasure !” 
the Duke says, touching the Cardinal’s shoulder. 

“Thou speakest as if it gave thee pleasure, my lord 
Duke!” the Cardinal says, a proud look coming into his 
face. “Such a messenger usually carries a warranty with 
his words.” 

“Here is his Majesty’s written order !” 

“I see no great seal attachment, but that has not come to 
thee yet, for all thy covetousness,” the Cardinal cuttingly 
says. 


218 


By the King’s Command. 

“Thou art cutting with thy words, and I will inform his 
Highness of what thou sayest. But here is something 
greater than thy Chancellor’s seal, my lord Cardinal, for 
this is his Majesty’s signet,” and the Duke shows the King’s 
ring. 

“It is enough, sir. Tell his Highness that Cardinal Wol- 
sey will use his Majesty’s pleasure to his Majesty’s profit, 
as a faithful Chancellor of his realm. That is, if thou 
dost not tell him anything less treasonous about me from 
thyself, and forget my loyal message !” 

The Duke’s face grows livid with anger, as he leaves the 
room ; while the Cardinal stands erect, and disdainfully 
looks after him with a cynical smile upon his face. 

At the door the Duke turns and says, “I hate you, Wol- 
sey !” 

“Thy valor is equal to thy speech, sir. Thou hast a 
sword, I am unarmed.” 

The Duke fairly grinds his teeth as he leaves the Car- 
dinal, determined not to leave a stone unturned until he 
has completed the ruin of the Cardinal. The arrest of Car- 
dinal Wolsey gives Cardinal Campeggio a great deal of un- 
easiness, and he does not rest until he leaves the shores of 
England. 

When he is about to embark at Dover, he is detained, 
and his baggage searched for the Pope’s decretal. But the 
gouty old Cardinal is foxy, for at the arrest of Wolsey, fear- 
ing for himself, he 'burned it. The King was dreadfully 
angry about it, but the Cardinal is well away from his anger 
and gloats over his shrewdness. 

The day following the arrest, the King’s attorney sues 
for a writ of “Praemunire” against Cardinal Wolsey, on the 
ground that his acts as “Legate” are against the statu- 
tory laws of England. 

The King also dispatches Doctor Cranmer and the Earl 
of Wiltshire on a mission to the learned universities to get 
their independent opinions about the divorce, and to rightly 
acquaint the Emperor Charles, and King Francis, about 
his proposed new wdfe, the Lady Anne Boleyn. 

His Majesty, with the court and the Lady Anne, go on 
a tour of the midland counties, the King’s object being to 
get away from his wife. 


“ Cawood Castle.” 


219 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

“cawood castle.” 

Twelve months have passed, and Cardinal Wolsey has 
been very ill; so ill that Dr. Butts has attended him from 
the King, and a skilled physician named Signor Agostino, 
recommended by the Venetian envoy, Signor Giustiani, 
and a pupil of the great Venetian physician, Bellario, lives 
with his Eminence at his palace at Esher, where he has 
gone from York Place. 

The Cardinal is a feeble wreck, for they have hounded 
him nearly to death. Under the act of “Praemunire,” all 
his goods become forfeit to the Crown, and his acts in- 
validated. They strip him of almost everything, and it is 
only Master Cromwell’s skill that saves him enough to ex- 
ist on. 

The Duke of Norfolk comes in triumph and demands the 
Great Seal of England, forcing his way in almost to the 
Cardinal’s bed for it. Signor Agostino just stops him in 
time, on the threshold of the Cardinal’s room with, “You 
cannot see his Eminence, your Grace, for he lies almost at 
death’s door.” 

“Then bring me the Great Seal, sir, or I come and take 
it from him !” he says in triumph. 

“Take it to him, Master Cavendish ! Yet, no ! I will 
give it to him myself !” the Cardinal says, hearing what the 
Duke has said, and forcing himself from the bed, he stum- 
bles and nearly falls on his way to the door, as George 
Cavendish assists him. 

“I want not thy assistance ! Help me with this gown !” 
he says, struggling into his cassock; and thus attired he 
gets to the door of his chamber, where the physician hor* 
xifiedly sees him with the Great Seal in his hand. 


220 


By the King’s Command. 

Facing his enemy he says : “Here, my lord Duke, is the 
thing thou covetest. But as thy master gave it to me to 
keep, I must see his warrant for delivering it to thee; for 
if thou have it not, I have life enough left in me to resist 
thee, though thou art trying thy best to kill me.” 

“Here is the warrant, my lord Cardinal, and thy sickness 
would draw pity from one, if he could forget the hatred 
thou hast previously borne him,” the Duke says, handing 
the Cardinal the warrant, with the King’s seal. 

“Then it would be something new in thy nature, for 
pity never lived in thy breast, my lord ! And since thou 
hast torn me like a wolfish hound, a lamb’s tongue was 
never found in a dog’s mouth !” the Cardinal says, sway- 
ing in his weakness, as he hands the Great Seal of England, 
which he has held as Lord High Chancellor for so many 
years, to the Duke. 

“Hound and dog ! It is well thou art near death’s door, 
Wolsey ! I have here thy pardon from the King, and it 
reads thou shalt betake thyself to thy diocese at York; and 
begone quickly, for I have teeth yet to tear thee !” the Duke 
says, as he flings the pardon at the Cardinal’s feet, and 
strides away livid with rage. 

“Thou dastard ! Thou wilt do it !” the Cardinal says, 
falling into the arms of his faithful George Cavendish, 
who carries him to his bed. 

Signor Agostino shows the Duke out, and at the door he 
says : “Before you leave for the north, if thou hast time, I 
wouldst see thee at my lodgings. But be discreet about tell- 
ing any, if thou choosest to come !” and he rides away. 

And so, about a week later, Signor Agostino travels to 
London for special elixirs and compounds that his High- 
ness’ physicion, Dr. Butts, and he hath agreed upon, that 
will be beneficial to the Cardinal. 

After spending the day in visiting many shops and 
herbalists, when night approaches, instead of taking his 
way to an inn, he takes his way to my lord of Norfolk’s 
lodging, and sending in his name, is immediately admitted 
to my lord’s own private room. 

“And so you have come ! How is the Cardinal’s 
health?” the Duke says. 

“He is exceedingly feeble, though mending, your Grace.” 


“Cawood Castle.” 221 

“Then yon do not think he will die?” he says, looking 
keenly at the Venetian. 

“No. He has chances for life.” 

“Humph!” grnnts the Duke, as if disappointed. And 
he is disappointed, for while Wolsey lives, the King feels 
somehow safe; for if anything goes wrong the King has 
him to fall back npon, and has told his counsellors so to 
their annoyance, and particularly the Duke’s, for he feels 
insecure while Wolsey lives, for he knows he will lose his 
high position if Wolsey ever returns to favor. 

“How like you his Eminence ?” the Duke asks. 

“He is a gentle master,” the physician replies discreetly. 

“Then he is wonderfully changed, for I looked for you 
to tell me differently. Are you paid for your services ?” 

“Master Cromwell attends to {hat, and I have no reason 
to complain.” 

“The King is retaining Master Cromwell, as he finds 
him useful; so thy future pay is not so certain. Dost 
like gold? — £100 or £200? I know a way it can be 
earned !” the Duke asks, scanning the physician’s face. 

“I like gold well enough. That sum to me would be a 
fortune.” 

“Then there is a way it can be earned.” And the wily 
physician waits for the Duke’s bribe, for he is already 
guessing the Duke’s hint. 

But the Duke is as crafty as the physician, and pres- 
ently says to him, “Dost know anything of the adminis- 
tering of ‘aqua tofani’?” 

“I have administered same, your Grace.” 

Walking up and down in thought, the Duke turns to 
the physician and says, “About the Cardinal’s health. Did 
you say he was apt to die?” he asks pointedly. 

“I THINK HE WILL, as his Eminence’s constitution is 
very much broken of late,” the physician says, craftily, per- 
fectly understanding the Duke. 

“What are thy opportunities of knowing the Cardinal’s 
affairs?” the Duke asks, as he sees the physician under- 
stands him. 

“Sufficient that I can observe all that he does.” 

“Then any word, or any thing that thou canst bring me 
of letters or dispatches that will be useful to me, of the 


222 


By the King’s Command. 

Cardinal’s, I will pay yon well for them. For I dare to 
tell you I am not the Cardinal’s friend. And see ! There 
is fifty pounds in gold to stimulate thee, and more awaits 
thee as I hear from thee,” the Duke says, proffering the 
bribe. 

“It may be difficult for me to communicate quickly with 
your Grace.” 

“Ah ! Then I will have two of my trusty varlets be at 
your service,” he says, ringing a bell. 

“Send Eric and Hugh to me,” he says to his gentleman 
usher. 

The two come in, a pair of lusty varlets that have grown 
up in the Duke’s service from boys, and know nothing but 
fealty to their lord. 

“See you this gentleman? He is Cardinal Wolsey’s 
physician, who is journeying with his Eminence to York- 
shire. He has my signet ring, and may want to use you. 
Set out at once and go to the Minster Inn at York, and be 
ready to do the bidding of this man or any that he may 
send to thee with my ring.” 

The two look intently at the physician, then they betake 
themselves to the servants’ quarters, while the physician is 
shown to his lodgings. Early in the morning he betakes 
himself to Esher to accompany the Cardinal on his jour- 
ney to Cawood Castle at York. 

At the beginning of Passion week he sets out, 'with 
something of his old fire and determination of executive 
ability; for if he is changed to an Archbishop, from being 
the Great Chancellor of England, the people shall see a 
real working Archbishop, though he has but a feeble body 
with which to carry out his determination. 

As much as he loved pomp and show when representing 
the King, he now disdains it all, and starts out with a few 
retainers, the faithful Cavendish, Agostino his physician, 
and a few chaplains. The gentry welcome him" as he 
comes, and are amazed to find the real Cardinal so different 
to the reported. 

At the Manor House at Southwell, he receives the neigh- 
boring gentry, talks to them kindly, and by the simplicity 
and frugality of his life wins all hearts. At the various 
parish churches, he attends with one of his chaplains. 


“ Cawood Castle.” 


223 


sometimes riding five or six miles to do so, taking his din- 
ner along, and saying mass for them, and having his chap- 
lain preach them a sermon. Then, after sermon, invites 
the local gentry to meet him, enquires into their affairs, 
and if any have quarrelled, causes them to be reconciled. 

A great reaction sets in wherever he goes, the parish 
priests become more devout, the bishops more pastoral, and 
the people more devotional. 

It takes the form of a revival, for the children catch the 
holy infection and hundreds present themselves for con- 
firmation. 

At St. Oswald’s Abbey he confirms children all the morn- 
ing, then again in the afternoon, till his feeble body won’t 
stand up, and the bishops have to take his place. There has 
scarcely been anything like it seen since the time of the 
holy Augustine, for at the village greens, or at the wayside 
stone crosses they await him with upturned faces as he 
comes; and if his imperious nature could be satisfied with 
such work, his progress in this humble way is a veritable 
triumph. 

It is late in the afternoon when the Cardinal’s small 
company comes in sight of his future home, for the sun 
shows signs of declining, and lazy rooks, with slow flapping 
wings, are wending their way to their forest home; and 
they pass creaking wains on their way to the little farms 
and holdings, when they at last cross the drawbridge of 
the castle, and the Seneschal hands the keys to his future 
master, the Cardinal Archbishop of York, and no longer 
the Mighty Chancellor that swayed his royal master. 

A few weeks are spent in receiving the nobility, clergy 
and gentry of his diocese and in arranging for his installa- 
tion into his Archiepiscopal See of York. 

But it would be foolish to suppose that this master 
mind could be content at this kind of thing, and he is not ; 
for though he keeps himself hard at work, yet he spends 
hours and hours fretting and chafing at his condition, and 
all the work in the world won’t drive it away. Habit is a 
form of nature, the absorption into the being, which be- 
comes a part of one’s self. And his Eminence has too 
long ruled and guided kings and princes, to be satisfied 
with leading peasants and boors, 


224 


By the King’s Command. 

He thinks: “How they are spoiling my life’s work, my 
colleges, my schools, my treaties with the Emperor and 
his Holiness ! 

“Should not his Holiness and the King of France inter- 
cede for me ? Dare the King treat a prince of the church 
this way, without the Holy Father’s sanction? No harm 
in applying to them ! But how can I do it ? Perhaps the 
Venetian envoy, Monsignor Giustiani, who is well affected 
towards me, will undertake my case ! No ! But I will 
write letters, and send them through him ! Master Agos- 
tino will undertake them for me, for he comes recom- 
mended hy Monsignor Giustiani !” 

Thus the Cardinal thinks, until it grows on him to do so, 
when he writes to his Holiness and King Francis, and lays 
the letters carefully in his desk locked up securely. 

Meanwhile Master Agostino waits for an opportunity to 
betray the Cardinal. The sight of the gold that he owns, 
makes him covet the gold that awaits him; and he grows 
restless as time passes, and no opportunity presents itself. 

Master Agostino’s room is a place of fascination for 
Master Cavendish, and the many compounds, elixirs in 
phials, and a small brazier, a never ceasing wonder to him. 
He loves to go there and chat with the physician, and it is 
here we find him one afternoon, watching Master Agostino, 
who holds a colorless liquid to his eye, but who is all the 
time thinking of the Duke’s gold, as he shakes the phial. 

“You must be very learned, Master Agostino, for so 
many of your medicaments look alike, I wonder how you 
can tell them apart ?” 

“It is as easy for me, Master Cavendish, as for thee to 
know each separate piece of his Grace’s manv vestments.” 

“What do you think of his Grace’s condition ?” 

“Not very well. His mental trouble tells on him, and 
his feverishness at work will wear him out, if he does not 
rest.” 

“What can we do for him, for his Grace works as if it 
is a crime not to?” 

“Thou wilt be giving him his mulled wine soon, and I 
will put in a few drops that I think will give him some 
strength, for he must have some for his coming installa- 


“ Cawood Castle.” 225 

tion,” the physician says, deciding this is a good oppor- 
tunity to administer the “aqua tofani.” 

“It is time now for his Grace’s wine, and I will get it,” 
and Master Cavendish leaves to do so. 

“I have only once before used this,” thinks the physi- 
cian; “and then not over skilfully; an old Bellario, my 
master, not helped me, I should not he living. But I 
will begin, as he impressed me, by giving a light dose, and 
if it takes longer in its work, it is safer.” 

Cavendish returning with the wine, the physician drops 
in a few drops of the liquid, and leisurely handing the 
same to Cavendish, follows him into the presence of the 
Cardinal. 

“Ah ! I wanted to see thee, Signor. I have been writ- 
ing to thy patron, Monsignor Giustiani, to forward some 
letters for me. And since I have had some proofs of thy 
discretion, I have chosen thee to convey my dispatches to 
his Excellency the Venetian envoy.” 

“I am always pleased to do thy bidding, your Grace,” the 
treacherous leech replies, in well concealed pleasure, as 
he wishes he could recall the fatal glass that stands at 
the Cardinal’s elbow. But he thinks, “If these dispatches 
prove not what I hope they are, then my potion can begin 
its charm. And if I hear not of a sick man soon, my skill 
counts for nothing.” 

Taking the glass in his hand the Cardinal drinks the 
wine, then rising, he goes to his secretaire, and takes the 
dispatches and gives them to the leech. 

“Thou wilt set out early in the morning and it is need- 
less to tell thee that I shall be eager for thy return,” his 
Grace says earnestly. 

Receiving the precious package, he says: “Take care of 
thyself, your Grace, and if thy condition improve not, take 
some more of the powders that Dr. Butts and myself agreed 
upon. And I will use dispatch for your Grace, and with 
thy permission will now away to make preparation for my 
journey.” 

“Adieu ! And use all speed ! And may I have success,” 
the Cardinal mentally thinks. 

Securing his money about his person, and into a leather 
pouch putting such elixirs and herbs that he considers safer 


226 By the King’s Command. 

with himself than to be found in his belongings, early the 
next morning he sets ont alone, refusing escort. He wends 
his way southward until out of view of the castle, when 
turning he makes a detour and spurs his horse to York. 

Finding the Duke’s two retainers, Eric and Hugh, at the 
Minster Inn, he has them follow him southward, and with 
hard riding they make London on the third day, and 
Signor Agostino is able to place in the Duke’s hands the 
package of the Cardinal. 

“Thou hast done well !” he says as he examines the let- 
ters and rubs his hands with glee. 

“One hundred pounds is yours, and fifty more besides, 
the day that the axe falls on the neck of the ‘butcher’s 
curM” the Duke says joyfully. 


Marchioness of Pembroke. 


227 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

MARCHIONESS OF PEMBROKE. 

Queen Katherine has come with the very slim court 
that the King has left her to Windsor Castle. She has 
heard that the King is to arrive soon, and she has come to 
meet him. 

The King’s tour with the Lady Anne and the court has 
taken the form of running away from his wife. Be- 
fore he decided to set out he had a stormy scene with her, 
trying to force her to do his will, by calling herself Prince 
Arthur’s widow, and Dowager Princess of Wales, and re- 
tire to one of her manor houses, but she would not do it. 

And so the King is touring the counties, or rather, run- 
ning away from his wife. She has heard that he is coming 
to Windsor, and whenever she can, she quietly comes and 
places herself at his side, to his great annoyance. 

In the Queen’s boudoir some of her ladies are gathered. 
Donna Elvira, the Countess of Northumberland, the Vis- 
countess Rochford (whose husband is with the King), Lady 
Mary Carey, and a few others. 

They have nothing to do but discuss matters, and the 
Viscountess Rochford is not slow with her sharp tongue. 

“xAnd so they are to arrive to-day ! I wonder if the Lady 
Anne will come?” Donna Elvira says, in her gentle voice. 

“I should think not, indeed ! I wish she would fall from 
her horse and break her neck, for only that will stop her 
parading the country with his Majesty to the shame of our 
family,” the Viscountess says, spitefully. 

“Thou art severe on thy husband’s sister,” the Countess 
of Northumberland replies. 

“Call you it severe, Lady Mary ? Thou art a daily suf- 


228 


By the King’s Command. 

ferer by her wiles, and wedded to one who seemingly cares 
less for thee than for his horse or dog. And she was at 
the bottom of it all.” 

“But she was not to blame for that. Poor lady, she is 
led by the King largely against her will.” 

“Kay; I know her better ! She has ambition enough to 
have us all scraping at her feet, as a queen. Queen, in- 
deed ! Why, they will have to compel me to do obeisance to 
her, I despise her so !” the irate Countess says. 

“I am ashamed of thee. Lady Eochford ! That is why you 
are always quarrelling with thy husband, my brother 
George; and we have heard thy vaunts before and saw 
thee afterwards do the King’s bidding. What if the Vis- 
count George heard thee talk that way ?” Lady Mary Carey 
says. 

“You had better tell him then. I care not ! It is a 
shame to our queenly mistress to be so persecuted, even if 
that one is my sister-in-law.” 

“Say, rather, shame on his Majesty, but you dare not! 
You know Anne has done her best to free herself from him ! 
And you know, Lady Eochford, that she is obeying one we 
all are compelled to !” Lady Mary Carey says, in her sister’s 
defense. 

“I know she likes the King ! I know she is becoming wan- 
ton, and a bye-word among maidens ! And I know, also, I 
wish I had never married your brother George !” the in- 
censed lady says, in heat. 

Queen Katherine comes in quietly, and hears the lady’s 
tirade, and says, “For shame, Lady Eochford! That is 
not Christian ! When you hear me complain, who, me- 
thinks, has the greater cause, it will be well for you to fol- 
low my example.” 

A bugle note announces some clamoring for entrance, 
and a bustle in the great quadrangle that arrivals have 
come, which puts a stop to further words, as the Queen 
says, “Come with me, ladies, for I think it must be his 
Highness, and a true wife should meet her king and lord 
in the entrance chamber.” 

It is his Majesty, and he is in an ill mood at learning 
the Queen is here to meet him; and so, without laying 
aside whip or gloves, and bonneted, he comes into the castle. 


Marchioness of Pembroke. 


229 


“We give you hearty welcome, my king and dear lord !” 
her Majesty says, as she kneels to him, her ladies kneeling 
behind her. 

There is a look of winsome entreaty in her kind face, as 
full of the eloquence of appeal she raises it to him, and 
looks for responsive love, with that eternal woman’s hope 
that remains unbroken. 

“I wanted not to see thee here ! I sent thee a message not 
to come! Thou dost annoy me constantly with thy dis- 
obedience !” he says, angrily, offering not to raise her, and 
seeing none of the pure love of her heart, in her attitude 
of appeal. 

“Canst thou say these things to me ? Is there no welcome 
for me, Sire ?” her hungry soul craves. 

“Have done with thy wailings ! Thou dost drive me 
from thee ! Thou art not obedient to my wishes, and since 
thou dost so persistently follow me, thou mayest do it in 
the future at thy peril, for I roam not the country longer 
to be rid of thee !” he says, brutally. 

“Then I am deserted and forsaken indeed !” she says, as 
she bows to the ground, seeing the King stride away from 
her, calling to his suit to ride away with him. 

Donna Elvira comes and comforts her, as she can, and 
her ladies kneel about her, as she wrings her hands as the 
waves of her desertion sweep over her troubled soul. 

Thus I find her, as his Majesty has sent me back with an 
added brutality for her, wringing her hands and wailing, 
“Deserted! Deserted! Oh, Heavenly Jesu! Go where I will 
he is my husband, miy dear lord ! Henry ! Henry ! I can 
only love thee, for in my heart there is only thee to love !” 

“The King hath sent your Majesty a message,” the 
Countess of Northumberland whispers. 

I kneel before her waiting her grief to modify, and when 
she goes to rise, I assist her to her feet. “Oh, Master 
Wyatt, I am sore distressed !” she wails. 

“I wish I could comfort your Majesty, but I am the 
bearer of such a word that I am obliged to tell you; and 
I pray you forgive the messenger; for indeed I have no 
heart to deliver it,” I say, the tears streaming from my 
eyes at her distress. 

“I had best know it all ! My soul is pierced to its depths 


230 By the King’s Command. 

now! What further cruelty hath his Highness for me?” 
she says. 

“His Majesty commands me to tell yon that when yonr 
visit to Windsor Castle is ended, he wishes to come; but 
will not whilst your Majesty is here.” 

Words cannot convey the desolation of the Queen. A 
poor loving heart, deserted and forsaken, and brutally 
tyrannized over. 

In agony she raises her eyes to me, and says, “Said he 
aught else?” 

“Yes, your Majesty. 'The King says, the Lady Willough- 
by (Donna Elvira), and the Countess of Northumberland 
may accompany you, and any of your escort that you may 
select.” 

“Then he is determined I shall go. Said he aught else ?” 

“Ask me not, your Majesty !” I say, beseeching her, for I 
am reluctant to tell her any more. 

“Deliver thy message, sir. It is the King’s, and not 
thine,” she says, firmly. 

“His Highness says, Madam, that an you go not, an es- 
cort will be sent by him that may not please you,” I say, 
with shame. 

“Then he threatens me ! It is time I were gone ! But, 
ah ! Tell his Highness that I send my dear love to him ! 
Tell him I pray for him day and night ! Tell him, Master 
Wyatt, that I have only him to love, as before God I have 
none other !” and the poor Queen weeps afresh, as the 
thought of him starts her grief. 

“Oh, Madam, I humbly crave thy pardon! I beg thy 
forgiveness ! We all are loyal to you,” I say in my shame 
and grief. 

“I believe thee, Master Wyatt. Thou art a trusty 
heart!” she says, giving me her hand, which I devoutlv 
kiss, and then 1 leave her to join his Majesty. Her Majesty 
soon leaves with a small escort, to go to one of her own 
manor houses, at More Park, Hertfordshire, and his Maj- 
esty is glad to get rid of her so peacefully. 

As many ladies of the Court, and particularly the high 
titled dames, will not give precedence to the Lady Anne, 
but cut her cruelly as they can, on any and all occasions 
when the King is absent, and also behind the King’s back 


Marchioness of Pembroke. 


231 


when he is present, it takes all the diplomacy she is capable 
of for her to hold her own, as sharp witted as she is, and 
her position is far from enviable, which the King can see. 
And so he has been casting in his mind how to exalt her, 
to give her rank and precedence before all, equal to his 
own kin and family. 

His Majesty is not slow at resources, fcr he has found a 
way to give her such rank and title that will do it. 
Jasper Tudor, Earl of Pembroke, was great uncle to the 
King, and at his Castle at Pembroke, his father, Henry 
VII. was born. This title is within his own family, and 
not borne at present by any other. He will make her 
one of his own kin, a TUDOR; for he will create her 
MARCHIONESS OF PEMBROKE. And the King has 
come to Windsor Castle to perform this function, and 
turned away the Queen to do it. 

We all are gathered in the throne room, the day follow- 
ing the King’s arrival, as seated on his throne, surrounded 
by his councillors and the great peers of the realm, the 
throne room filled with the elite of the court, resplendent 
in all their wealth of pomp and dress, as we await the com- 
ing of Lady Anne. 

She enters to the sound of trumpets, dressed in a long 
robe of crimson velvet, her bodice cut square about her 
shoulders, and edged with large pearls. Her head is bare, 
and her abundant rich golden brown hair falls unconfined 
about her. Her sister, Lady Mary Carey, comes after her, 
carrying upon her arm her robe of state of crimson velvet 
lined and trimmed with ermine, and in her right hand a 
marchioness’ coronet of gold. Following after her comes 
her father and step-mother, her brother George and his 
wife, and a numerous train of the notables of the court. 

Three times as she comes, she makes profound obeisance, 
so courtierly and queenly, that the King whispers to the 
Duke of Norfolk, “Saw you ever anything more queenly? 
She was born for a crown.” 

Again she bows low, and comes and kneels at the King’s 
feet and looks charmingly up into his face. There are 
loving looks exchanged as the Lord Chancellor (Sir Thomas 
More) is reading the Charter, and the King determines 


232 


By the King’s Command. 

the divorce proceedings must be hurried, and then he will 
exalt her to the throne. 

At the conclusion of the reading the King rises, and tak- 
ing the robe from Lady Carey, places it about the shoul- 
ders of Lady Anne, whispering to her, “Thou art a dear 
love, and makest a beautiful marchioness !” 

Anne thanks him with a look as he takes the coronet and 
places it upon her head, his two hands giving her head a 
tender pressure. 

She is about to take the King’s hand in homage, for the 
great honor conferred upon her, when he says: “Not so!” 
and stoops over and kisses her. 

“Beautiful darling, art learning to love me?” he gaily 
whispers to her. 

“Yes, Sire, with kinship affinities now !” 

“They shall call you Queen before long, for I am de- 
termined on it !” he says enamoured. 

But her titles and prerogatives are being called, and then 
the King holding her hand, says : “This is the Marchioness 
of Pembroke, allied to me by kinship ties, a member of the 
family and House of Tudor, and my dear friend.” 

The King’s eyes are upon all at his announcement, watch- 
ing them, to see who will come and greet her. There is a 
dead silence, as they dare not refuse, and none dare discuss 
the matter with the other. 

The King’s sister, the Duchess of Suffolk, comes first 
with the Duke, and all follow. There is a little hesitancy 
on the part of Lady Bochford, who is embarrassing Anne’s 
brother in coming, and the King notices it. 

To snub her, he presently says: “My fair kinswoman, 
the Marchioness of Pembroke, hath so great a weight of 
state about her, that she needeth some assistance in re- 
tiring. You will assist her with her train, Lady Kochford.” 
With tears of rage in her eyes, she comes forward knowing 
the King hath seen her, and bowing low to him to hide her 
mortification, she walks behind her sister-in-law with the 
feeling that she would like to twitch the robes off her back. 

But the Duke of Norfolk is following his Majesty out 
on to the terrace. He has the Cardinal’s letters in his 
pocket, and waits an opportunity to show them to the King. 


Marchioness of Pembroke. 233 

The King walks to the parapet railing and waits for the 
Marchioness to join him. 

It is a beautiful panoramic view that stretches out be- 
fore him. The Thames looks like a silvery thing of life 
as it flashes and sparkles on its way to the sea in the au- 
tumn sunlight. The tinge of the season is upon every- 
thing. In the topmost trees of beech and oak that are 
immediately below them, squirrels are seen jumping from 
hough to bough ; lordly pheasants in their robes of glossy 
sheen and barred entrainage, strut across the velvet sod, 
while antlered stags walk out in dignified rivalry and stand 
with pose of knight champions to accept the challenge of 
rival bucks, conscious that the eyes of gentle does are on 
them, and ready to fight to the death in their defense. 

“Sire, we have heard from Cardinal Wolsey,” the Duke 
of Norfolk says. 

“Ah ! I hear he is leading quite a pastoral life, and con- 
firming boys and girls like a parish priest. I thought such 
work would sicken Wolsey, for he was built for sterner 
work than that,” the King replies. 

“He hath sickened of it, Sire. Wolsey could never be 
satisfied with it.” 

“How know you it ? What is he doing ?” 

“Living one life to blind your Highness, and plotting 
treason quietly.” 

“S’death, my lord ! How know you this ?” 

“I have it on his own written word, Sire,” the Duke an- 
swers. 

“Well ! Well ! I thought Wolsey would be up to some 
crookedness,” the Duke of Suffolk breaks in with. 

“But where are the proofs? Have you any proofs?” the 
King says, quickly. 

“Yes, Sire. I have them here,” and the Duke hands the 
King the Cardinal’s letters. 

An angry frown comes over the King’s face as he reads 
the pleadings of the Cardinal to the king of France, and 
his Holiness ; and especially where he tells him his sympa- 
thies lie with Queen Katherine. 

“Treachery !” he mutters. 

“Treason, Sire !” the Duke says. 

But the Marchioness is coming with other ladies of the 


234 


By the King’s Command. 

Court. She has laid aside her robes of state, and donned 
a rich suit of dark blue velvet and pearl, with pearl orna- 
ments. 

“How well thy dignity becomes thee!” the King greets 
her with. 

“The sun shines in thine eyes, Sire, and dazzles thee !” 

“I would be thy Sun to shine on thee !” 

“Then I bow low to Apollo !” she says, kissing his hand. 

“Thou art Apollo’s true mate, and thy smiles are golden.” 

“Then I shall pay thee with smiles when I lose with thee 
at cards.” 

“But we were talking of treason, when thou didst fly it 
to the winds.” 

“May I ever do so. Sire. But who is treasonous to your 
Highness?” she enquires. 

“It is Wolsey. And the treason is more against thee 
than any other.” 

“Does the Cardinal dare. Sire? I should think he had 
better take care.” 

“He is ambitious. He has petitioned France and the 
Pope to intercede for him, as he favors Queen Katherine.” 

“Then he is open in his declaration. Truth will out. 
I knew he liked me not. But who could think that he 
would secretly oppose your Highness !” 

“His last chance is to tide this over, and fight hard to 
be Pope. Then he would have us all at his feet,” the Duke 
of Suffolk says. 

“I will finally stop it ! You, Sir Thomas More, art our 
Chancellor, and will make out the necessary papers; and 
you, my lord of Norfolk, art president of our Council, and 
know our will; and you may send the Earl of Northum- 
berland to arrest the Cardinal, and bring him to London, 
for methinks the Lord Percy hath no love for him.” 

“It will teach him a lesson, Sire, and bring home to him 
some of his cruelties,” the Earl of Wiltshire remarks. 

And so the council meets, and Sir Walter Walshe is sent 
to Bridewell with the papers for Earl Percy who is there, 
to acquaint him that he is to accompany him: with fifty 
horse, to arrest the man whom he used to love as a father. 


A Royal Hunt in the Great Forest. 235 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

A ROYAL HUNT IN THE GREAT FOREST. 

A number of us are gathered next day in the great 
quadrangle of the castle for a royal hunt with his Majesty. 
Master Anthony Brown is busy with his grooms, and over- 
looking the various mounts as “Master of the Horse,” and 
the quadrangle presents a busy scene. 

Stout foresters in leathern jerkins hold wolfish looking 
dogs in leashes, while mounted foresters are ready to take 
them, and “slip” them at a stag when one is selected. 

Grooms lead horses up and down, as they wait for their 
mounts ; and the beautiful animals seem conscious of what 
is expected of them, and in their pride champ their bits 
and toss their heads, and caper sideways, and look ! Look 
as a horse can look, with soul and intelligence in his eyes, 
and would speak if he could; does speak as he can, ex- 
pressing to man his delighted service so faithfully given, 
and asking for true comradeship. 

“Hector,” Percy’s gift to the Marchioness, awaits her. 
Rosettes are in his bridle, and upon his back a red morocco 
leather side saddle; and he looks the very perfection of 
magnificent horseflesh. 

The King soon comes, dressed in dark green velvet riding 
suit, with long buff leather boots and gloves. In his velvet 
bonnet are two eagle plumes fastened with a jewelled 
brooch, a quiver and arrows are at his back, and in his belt 
a large hunting knife. Slowly he comes down the steps, 
looking among us for the Marchioness; and with his 
majestic height he looks a very god among men, as smil- 
ing, he good-humoredly anticipates a glorious day after his 
own heart. 


236 


By the King’s Command. 

“Where is the Marchioness, Master Wyatt ?” 

“Coming now, Sire,” I say, as I see her just descending 
the steps. 

Tripping down the steps she comes, her face wreathed 
in beaming smiles, laughing and chattering with the’ Duch- 
ess of Suffolk, and the others; she looks like happiness 
personified, and the very goddess of mirth; and I am not 
surprised the King is enamoured of her, for we all are. 

She is dressed in a dark green velvet riding habit, nearly 
matching the King*s, and is daintily gloved and booted in 
buff. Bow and arrows she has also, and fastening an 
aigrette in her velvet hat to match, is a brooch of golden 
hawthorn, the family device of the Tudors , which she has 
adopted as a compliment to his Majesty. 

“Diana is alive ! The Ephesian goddess was not half so 
beautiful ! Thou art perfection, sweet Marchioness !** he 
says, greeting her. 

“Then the gods greet each other, Sire, for thou art truly 
the Delphian God !** 

“I see our device in thy bonnet. Thou wert born for a 
Tudor.” 

“I am. made so by favor of my King. But “Hector* 
awaits me/* she says, as she goes to him, and taking his 
muzzle in her hands, lays her cheek against it, as she whis- 
pers, “Give me a good ride to-day, ‘Hector/ ” and the 
horse looks glad in his dumb joy. 

“I am almost jealous of thee, thou favored beast/* the 
King says, patting “Hector’s” neck, then taking the 
Marchioness in his hands, he lifts her into the saddle. 

The King mounted, a bugle sounds out “Tally — ho — 
ho — ho ! Tally — ho — ho — ho — ho !’* and the cavalcade 
moves out of the courtyard, across the keep; and leaving 
the village to the left, enters the great forest that surrounds 
the castle. 

Massive oaks, gnarled and knotted with age, predomi- 
nate as the lordlings among the trees in this mighty forest ; 
in their tops great bunches of mistletoe grow, that makes 
one think of Druidical worship. Mammoth beeches are 
seen, with scampering squirrels running up their trunks; 
lordly elms and lime trees, whose leaves, autumn-tinted, 
quiver in the October breeze, and float down in a golden 


A Royal Hunt in the Great Forest. 237 

shower, beautiful in their decay, with the touch of the 
artist still upon them that has worked the miracle of their 
transformation. 

The thud, thud, thud, of the horses’ footfalls, and the 
sound of the leather of their equipment, and the merry 
chatter and laughter of the riders is heard, and no other ; 
for nature’s floor is velvet moss, deep and compacted in the 
richness of undisturbed luxuriant primeval growth. 

The air is pure and native to the hunting spirit, it is so 
exhilarating. There are sweet smelling violets somewhere 
near, as their perfumed breath whip the cheek as we ride 
along; and the rankness of ferns meets the nostrils, that 
through the trees are seen as tall as the riders’ knees. Pres- 
ently into the bracken we ride, where some fallow deer are 
lying, who, startled, leap up, and are away quickly in their 
fright. 

Past a great beech tree we go, whose spreading branches 
sweep the ground, beneath which a wild pig is rooting with 
a comely brood, that are thriving on the falling “masts.” 
With noisy gruntings they dash away and hide, as his 
Majesty says, “There will be work for your boar spears 
later” 

“Right now, Sire, for look yonder !” as a great boar with 
bristling back, and long curving tusks, comes into view, 
and stands for a moment glowering at them with his 
wicked eyes, and then hies away into the bracken. 

As his Majesty rides along he looks at the Marchioness 
with her charm and vivacity, her supreme enjoyment of 
the things that he so well enjoys, and her appreciation of 
the things that are dear to his heart; and his soul draws 
the contrast between the good maturing woman that is his 
wife, and this brilliant soul that is his ideal of women ; 
and his selfishness brings the excuses for his conduct, and 
he believes his marriage is all a mistake, and that the 
Marchioness is specially formed for him. 

But there is not much time for such thoughts, for as we 
near a plantation of horse-chestnut trees, our quarry is seen 
enjoying the nuts ; for seven large red deer stags are there, 
and with a huntsman’s sure instinct, a “royal” stag with 
his twelve tines, is selected, as he breaks away for the open, 
where he will try his speed with his pursuers. 


238 


By the King’s Command. 

Gallantly he leads out with majestic gait, his reddish- 
brown body and yellow-white buttocks rising and falling, 
as with lordly leapings he hies away. But Master Anthony 
Brown is hard after him with the King’s foresters, and the 
dogs, which are “slipped” at him ; and then with the bugle- 
horn “Tally — ho — ho — ho — ho — ho ! Tally — ho — ho — ho 
— ho !” we hark away. 

It is now a question of horse and endurance, as the hunts- 
man’s fever seizes upon us all, for we all know as we speed 
along, that the lordly beast in front of us will test our 
mettle. 

Settling herself in the saddle the Marchioness “Hallooes, 
Hi — hi — hi ! Hi — hi — hi, hoys !” to the hounds, then turns 
and beckons with her little hand to his Majesty; and 
“Hector” springs forward, the light weight upon his back 
being nothing to him, he being scarcely conscious of it, 
but for the determined pressure at his mouth, that con- 
veys to him her will. 

Out of the bracken and wild vines that would impede 
his progress, the stag leaps out into the open, with the 
hounds baying on his track, and the cavalcade well in his 
rear. Unimpeded he bounds away, conscious of his fleet- 
ness of foot, spurning the earth as his eyes look backward, 
he sees himself drawing away from the dogs. The great 
avenues of trees, underneath which is nothing but springy 
moss and softest turf, harmonize with his footfalls and ac- 
celerate his speed ; and warming to his task he scorns the 
hounds, as he heads for a rising hill and takes its gentle 
slope. The forest is well known to him, and he has not 
come to his age without exploring its depths. On, on he 
goes ; for yet miles away there is a lake with cooling waters 
he may drink, and the dense shade of its marshy borders 
hide him surely. So over the rise he goes, and with swing- 
ing gallop heads for the lake. The run so far is nothing, 
merely frees his joints and warms him to an effort. The 
baying of the dogs is disconcerting though, for there is a 
sound of menace and persistency in it that is uncomforta- 
ble. And so he gathers himself for a hard long run, as the 
clamoring dogs, sighting him, come tearing down the hill. 

“Hector,” warming to his run, with easy work keeps the 
dogs in sight, and the bracing wind kissing the Marchion- 


A Royal Hunt in the Great Forest. 239 

ess 5 cheeks, whips them into brilliant roses, as she experi- 
ences the joy and gladness of soul such a ride inspires. 

His Majesty is well in the rear of the Marchioness, but 
his horse makes gallant headway, considering the weight 
he has to carry ; and there are grooms with led horses fol- 
lowing the King, that he may have a fresh mount when 
necessary. 

Over the hill we go, “Hector” taking a gallant lead as 
he sees the dogs lower their heads and leap after the re- 
treating figure before them. 

All animation the Marchioness calls, “Hallo — o — o ! 
Hi — hi — hi — hi, boys !” and Sir Harry Guilford puts his 
hunting horn to his lips and “Tally — hoY 5 a blast in re- 
sponse. 

It seems now as if it is a race of horses, for the King and 
courtiers all urge theirs forward, trying to keep pace with 
the Marchioness, who easily leads us all. 

Into the bracken the deer plunges, but the loud mouthed 
dogs follow the keen scent, and press on where they cannot 
see him; for their stomachs are lean as they have not 
supped yesternight, or breakfasted this morning; and they 
are hungry to tear his throat and lap his warm life’s blood. 

Across chattering brooks he bounds, listening not to their 
sweet music that he has heard when he has lazily lain by 
their sides, for he has no time now, though a sip of their 
sweet life would refresh him as he races for his. Through 
dense thickets that do not hide, but rather impede his 
progress, he plunges; for where he can go, those wolfish 
dogs can more quickly follow, and he is only distressing 
himself and losing ground. Out into the open once more, 
where he finds both dogs and riders nearer than he thought ; 
for they have taken a cross-cut, by following the sound of 
the dogs. With his head well back, and with great breaths 
he leaps forward, and if he can endure, there is hope for 
him yet. 

The Viscount Boleyn with myself, are nearest to the 
Marchioness, as the King, changing horses, is left quite a 
little to the rear, where the Duke and Duchess of Suffolk, 
Mistress Saville, and the others are coming along. 

Presently a lake stretches out before the view of the 
lordly stag, and with great bounds he makes for it, and 


240 


By the King’s Command. 

plunging through its marshy edge, swims boldly out to 
make its farther side. 

At the intrusion of their quiet haunt, tall crane and 
heron, and hundreds of ducks fly up, with rushing sound of 
wings, and circle round and round to gaze at the intruders, 
as the baying hounds come to the water, and boldly follow, 
swimming rapidly after their victim. 

As the Marchioness comes to the water she checks “Hec- 
tor” in his stirring pace, long enough for him to have a 
drink, and for her to see which way to go. As she sees 
the dogs inclining to the left, she rides that way, and as we 
come up she calls : “This way ! This way, Master Wyatt !” 
and leads out with her brother George and me close to her. 

“Isn’t it glorious ! What a run he is giving us !” she says, 
animatedly, calling back to us as we dash after her. 

Great poplars whose majestic aspect resemble cathedral 
towers, and weeping willows, fringe the margin of the lake, 
and the Marchioness pushes on beneath them to where the 
lake narrows down to a running stream, which “Hector” 
leaps at a bound, when riding hard in the direction of the 
clamoring dogs, she sees them in the distance still pursuing 
their worthy victim, who refreshed with his cool bath, 
makes a gallant loop shaped run back towards Windsor. 

There is terror in his soul at the relentless way these 
gaunt hungry hounds persistently pursue him, and there 
is a weary feeling beginning to be felt in his flanks as he 
presses on. 

“Hector” is flecked with foam, but shows no signs of 
abatement of speed, as keen after the sound of the dogs he 
unerringly takes his way. 

Long red tongues lay out of the dogs’ mouths, as with the 
deer in their vision they hotly pursue it. Gathering them- 
selves together, they seem to hurl themselves forward, as 
they instinctively know their quarry is flagging, and the 
pace they are going will bring them to him shortly. 

As his Majesty and the others come up to the lake, they 
take their way to the right, as the stag in doubling comes 
that way, and the canine tongues tell them that is the di- 
rection. 

They might nearly have ridden back over the ground 
they have come, if they had only known ; for the loop that 


A Royal Hunt in the Great Forest. 241 

he makes, is as if his thoughts are to join his fellows that 
he fled from. Riding towards the sound they presently 
see him, and spurring forward they see the Marchioness 
hard after him, with the Viscount George and myself fol- 
lowing. 

How grand she looks as she sits her horse and urges on 
the dogs. She waves her hand to the King and calls: 
“Come on, Sire ! He is flagging !” and with mighty urg- 
ings, he brings his horse to her side. 

“Thou ridest like a whirlwind, Anne ! Hone can keep 
up with thee !” 

“It is ‘Hector/ Sire. He is a lovely beast!” and she 
pats his neck as she calls to the dogs, “After him ! Faster ! 
Faster !” 

Skirting the rise, as if fearful of making its ascent, the 
stag bears to the right and takes to the deeper forest depths, 
where it manages most skilfully, for dogs and deer are lost 
to view as the huntsmen must go slower here because of 
the deep undergrowth. 

Following the baying of the hounds, we come out into a 
more open space, where the tired beast in valiant fight has 
planted his back to a mighty giant of the forest and is 
managing to keep three of the dogs at bay, while a fourth 
has crawled away whining and crippled, with its entrails 
protruding from contact with those keen-pointed antlers. 

Riding so as to get a side shot at her victim, the 
Marchioness, not wanting in courage, takes an arrow from 
her quiver, and, fitting it to her bow, with a very well 
directed aim, sends it unerringly to its mark behind the 
beast’s shoulder. There is not sufficiency of force, however, 
to speed it home to the heart, but enough sting and menace 
to divert the animal’s attention to herself, for, with a 
mighty plunge it makes for “Hector,” who, lunging for- 
ward, unseats the Marchioness, who is at the mercy of the 
maddened beast. 

It is the stag’s last effort, however, for as it leaps to 
gore her, the wolfish dogs are at its throat and flanks, and 
drag it down almost upon the fallen Marchioness. 

I see this as I come up, and throwing myself from my 
horse, I rush between her and it, and taking her in my 
arms, carry her to a place of safety, while a forester, 


242 


By the King’s Command. 

placing his foot on one of the deer’s horns to pin its head 
to the ground, reaches over and cuts its throat, while others, 
fastening the leashes on the dogs, drag them away from its 
quivering carcass. 

“Art thou hurt ? Oh, art thou hurt ?” I say, concerned, 
as she lies still. 

Opening her eyes, she makes an effort to rise, hut cannot 
for a moment, as the breath is knocked out of her. But 
it is only for a moment, as she says, “I am not hurt, 
Thomas. ‘Hector’ knocked the breath out of me; I am 
quite well.” 

His Majesty is out of his saddle, immediately he rides 
up, and is full of enquiries. “But are you sure you are not 
hurt ?” 

“It is nothing. ‘Hector’ jumped from under me when 
the stag attacked him, and I was not quick enough with my 
hands, Sire, after discharging my arrow.” 

“Did you shoot the beast ? Thou art a brave little lady !” 
he says, proudly. 

“Yes, Sire, I shot it. And the antlers are mine.” 

“But what if the beast had killed thee? How could I 
do without thee?” he says, reflectively. 

“Couldst thou not, Sire ?” and Anne is pleased with the 
King’s serious look. 

“Ho. And thy bravery would ill requite me for the loss 
of thee.” 

“Master Wyatt would have shared death with me. Sire, 
for he was out of the saddle as quickly as I.” 

“Then I thank thee, Master Wyatt,” he says to me. 

“And so do I, sir,” she says, as his Majesty lifts her to 
the saddle again and we ride to the castle. 


The Cardinal’s Arrest for Treason. 243 


CHAPTER XXX. 

THE CARDINAL^ ARREST EOR TREASON. 

The Earl of Northumberland is lost in deep reflection 
as he rides northward with Sir Walter Walshe and fifty 
men-at-arms. 

What an irony of fate, he thinks, that I should be given 
this cruel mission. Memories crowd in on him thick and 
fast, as he thinks of the long ago, when he, a boy, came to 
the great Cardinal, and how he feared him. A motherless 
lad, with an austere father, with younger brothers that 
he left behind, he came to Hampton Court Palace, a 
stranger ; and wonder of wonders, fitted into a tender spot 
in the Cardinal's nature, that men thought the great states- 
man never possessed. 

AMBITION? The Cardinal is the personification of 
it ! Daughter, son, he has passed to one side ; almost dis- 
owned, for it. 

To be the POPE ! To really rule the world ! To show 
the world a strong mind ! This is his craving ambition ! 

To master men, to have them fear him, and obey him ! 
This he has done! Yet for all, when the little northern 
noble lad came to him, he took such a liking and affection 
for him that he became his favorite, and as he grew up, he 
loved him as a son, and this affection was fully returned by 
the boy and then the man. 

And then the trouble ! Why didn't he have strength of 
character to save me from my cruel fate ? Why, oh, why ? 
How many times he has thought this ! For the mighty 
love of his own heart would have caused him to bear tor- 
tures unthinkable for his adopted father, whom he had 
learned to idolize. 

“Oh, me !" he sighs as the distaste of it all is impressed 


244 


By the King’s Command. 

on him. “Why did not the King have the Lieutenant of 
the Tower go on this mission, Sir Walter?” 

“The council suggested you, and the King thought the 
same, I believe.” 

“Did his Majesty think it would give me pleasure?” he 
asks, surprised. 

“They talked that it was fair for you to get even with the 
Cardinal, for every man likes to have his revenge. And 
they all understand your broken relations with his Grace.” 

“Then, I assure you, Sir Walter, that none understand 
me, for I would rather meet ten men in battle who were 
seeking my life than go on this errand.” 

“The council said you would enjoy retaliating, m]y 
lord.” 

“Kay ! nay ! I have only pleasant memories of his 
Grace, but for one thing, and that, Sir Walter, is non- 
discussable ! But what are we to do with his Grace ? Sir 
William Kingston is usually sent when one is meant for 
the Tower.” 

“Sir William will follow and meet us. Report has it 
that his Eminence is growing so much in favor in the 
north, that the council suspects that if Sir William Kings- 
ton went, the people might rise and resist him, and his 
Grace sanction the rising and flee the kingdom.” 

“I do not think so, but that is my private opinion.” 

“But you know his Grace is wily and masterful, and 
could cause trouble, and so we are sent to disarm suspicion, 
and the council will further determine what to do while we 
are gone.” 

“They seem afraid of the Cardinal.” 

“It is his Grace of Korfolk, my lord. You know he has 
no love for the Cardinal. And his Grace the Duke is 
keenly disappointed in not getting the Chancellorship, for 
he felt sure of it; but his Highness gave it to Sir 
Thomas More instead. His Grace is very revengeful.” 

“I wish they had left me out of their plans !” he says, as 
he lapses into silence. 

Thus he thinks as he rides along, the beauty of the clos- 
ing season’s tintings and the grandeur of nature’s chang- 
ing loveliness appealing not to his eyes ; for there is an in- 
stinctive shrinking in his soul to do injury to the one who 


The Cardinal’s Arrest for Treason. 245 


has injured him so deeply, for common retaliation and bru- 
tal triumph seem not to meet his case. 

Thus the long ride is accomplished by the Earl, for the 
nearer he gets to the end of his journey, the more distaste- 
ful it grows to him ; and if he dared, he would forsake Sir 
Walter and make his way back again. 

But they come to the little village of Cawood, and the 
castle looms up in the distance, and the balance of the 
journey is soon accomplished, and the Earl is called to 
action, for as they ride across the draw-bridge he demands 
the keys from the Seneschal of the castle in the name of the 
King, and leaves Sir Walter to take possession and post 
his soldiers before following him into the presence of the 
Cardinal Archbishop of York. 

But we must return to the Cardinal. Hope is a blessed 
cordial, and a mighty stimulus, and he is building heavily 
on his sources of appeal. His Eminence is partly lifted into 
thinking he has a renewal of health, that is most gratifying 
to him and his faithful servant George Cavendish, and they 
both attribute the benefit to Signor Agostino, but it cer- 
tainly is not due to that villainous rascal, but to the elixir 
of hope that fans the fires of this indomitable man. 

It is the morning of the fourth of November, 1530, the 
day before the Cardinal’s induction into his Episcopal See 
of York, that his Grace rises earlier than usual, and busies 
himself about the multitude of matters that pertain to the 
new system that he has established with the bishops and 
priests of his diocese. 

By rigid economy and borrowing he has managed to 
scrape together about fifteen hundred pounds to pay the 
fees and expenses of his Episcopal functions and maintain 
his home until his revenues shall come in; and he who 
commanded such mighty resources is glad now to be able to 
meet the expenses that his modest life requires. 

“I have a feeling that Signor Agostino will return to- 
day,” he says hopefully. 

“I hope he will have success, your Eminence.” 

“That is a hearty hope, and so do I. He is much over- 
due, but may have some difficulty.” 

“He may be waiting to see the messenger of Monsieur 
Giustiani well away, so that he will bring you positive 
word.” 


246 


By the King’s Command. 

“That may be possible. I shall be glad to see him 
though, for I don’t understand the dry burning pain that 
lately seems to consume me.” 

“It is your Grace’s feverish condition. I think when 
Monsieur comes, it will hearten you up considerably.” 

“I hear a disturbance, Master Cavendish. Someone is 
arriving or my ears deceive me. Haste and bring me 
word, for I am eager to see my messenger !” he says, as he 
hears a disturbance in the castle courts. 

The Cardinal can scarcely contain himself, while he is 
waiting for the news, and for very weakness in his excite- 
ment and eagerness has to sit down. But as he hears the 
fall of footsteps towards his room, that he seems to know, 
he rises and goes towards the curtains, when they are pulled 
aside, and he is face to face with — Percy ! 

Astonishment is upon his face ! His hands go out in 
welcome, instinctively, for they are mechanical to the 
wishes of his heart ! He says, for he cannot help it, love is 
too impulsive : “Percy ! welcome ! Thou hast brought me 
some good news !” and the old habit will not be suppressed, 
for he places both of his hands on his boy’s shoulders, and 
gazes his loving welcome with his eyes. 

Steeling himself to his duty, with a mighty effort, Percy 
looks into the Cardinal’s eyes, and there is that in them that 
makes his voice almost beyond his) control, for it will 
scarcely sound, as his lips form the words, “I arrest you, 
my lord, in the King’s name, for high treason !” 

A terrible astonishment, deep and profound, floods the 
Cardinal’s soul, blanching his cheeks to a more deathly 
white than they already are. But rallying to a semblance 
of dignity, he says : “My lord, I see not the King’s warrant 
for this. You have it with you, I suppose?” and his hands 
fall from his boy’s shoulders. 

“Sir Walter Walshe is with me, who is disposing of the 
guard his Majesty hath sent to accompany your Grace to 
London ; he has the warrant from the council.” 

“It is well, my lord. Of what am I accused ?” his Grace 
tries to say calmly. 

“Your physician hath delivered to the Duke of Norfolk 
certain of your Grace’s letters and papers, and the King 
hath seen them.” 


The Cardinal’s Arrest for Treason. 247 


“The dastardly Judas! But there, I mind not very 
much, for a useful servant should have the privilege of 
soliciting the favor of those, methinks, who are indebted to 
him for many favors done them,” he replies earnestly. 

Sir Walter Walshe coming in, shows the Cardinal the 
King’s order for his arrest, when he bows his head, and ac- 
cepts the King’s will. 

As they are about to leave him, the Cardinal says, “I 
would have one more word with you, my lord,” and Percy 
lingers. 

Sir Walter passes out, and then the Cardinal says, “How 
is it that thou hast learned to be so cruelly vengeful?” he 
asks, with trembling voice. 

“Your Eminence misinterprets my presence. I am 
here upon his Majesty’s express commands, and am com- 
pelled to the office, or your Grace would not see me, as I 
once told you,” Percy replies, much moved as he faces his 
Eminence. 

“Even so ! His Majesty fills my cup in employing you ! 
I thank thee for thy explanation, my lord, for I judged thee 
differently ! May I have the attendance of my servant ?” 
he says brokenly. 

It is so strange, so shocking, this feature of his Eminence 
in his disgrace, suing to him for his own servant, that the 
wells of pity in his nature break up, and he kneels at the. 
Cardinal’s feet, for he cannot help it. 

“Pity me, your Grace ! Mine is a hard duty ! Help me 
to its best performance and forgive me !” and Percy can 
scarcely stifle a sob. 

“I do ! I do ! I knew thou wert not soulless ! The holy 
J esu bless thee !” he says, as he touches Percy’s head affec- 
tionately, and then sinks into a chair, while Percy hurries} 
away and sends Master Cavendish to him. 

News flies fast, and soon the whole countryside is stirred 
with the tidings of the misfortune that has come to one, 
who, in the short space of time he has been with them, hath 
endeared himself to their hearts. 

Thousands from far and near flock to the castle to see 
him depart. Many of the northern lords call and give him 
their sympathy, and if the Cardinal was vigorous and not 
crushed in spirit and body, he could easily resist the King’s 


248 By the King’s Command. 

arrest and escape abroad. But he is ill, very ill, and has to 
keep his bed. 

Three days pass, and the Earl and Sir Walter are per- 
plexed at this aspect of affairs, for they know the Duke’s 
cruelty and his Majesty’s insistence of his orders being 
obeyed with alacrity, and the only interpretation they will 
put upon it will be that the Cardinal is shamming to gain 
time, or some other motive, and so Sir Walter comes to his 
Grace and begs him, if he be able, to undertake the journey. 

“You see me, Sir Walter. Do you think I am able to 
go ?” his Grace asks. 

“My heart bleeds for your Eminence, but I am thinking 
of your enemies and his Majesty.” 

“Ah ! I am dazed and weak, but I should think of them ! 
I can make the effort if I die on the journey,” he says with 
resolution. 

“Perhaps the effort will hearten your Grace.” 

“I will go, sir, if it kills me. My life’s span is running 
out, and I am near my end. But I have a few that I should 
like to bid farewell to, with the Earl of Northumberland’s 
, permission.” 

“It will be gladly given, your Grace. And I will make 
ready for you,” and Sir Walter and Percy give the orders. 

And so Master Cavendish attires him and he sits in the 
great hall, and they come and bid him farewell, and many 
whisper that they will fight if needs be to keep him among 
them, %o great an affection has he gained in their hearts, 
because of the energy that he has displayed in bringing the 
soul of the church near to their souls. 

As they kneel before him and around him, he says: 
“Ye have been faithful and honest in your service to me, 
and I thank you all heartily. Report has it that I am on 
my way to the King’s Highness for treason, but wh atever ye 
hear that shall happen to me, never believe that I could 
prove traitor to him I have served faithfully and only too 
well. 

“And now, good-bve, and God have you in His holy keep- 
ing, and as ye love me pray for me, who goeth from you 
despoiled and broken.” 

Rising, he lifts his hands in holy benediction, and as he 
moves out of the great hall, supported by Cavendish and 


The Cardinal’s Arrest for Treason. 249 


one of his chaplains, they kiss the hem of his garments, 
weeping sorely. 

As he rides along they make quite a demonstration 
against the yeoman of the guard, but the Cardinal stops, 
and taking the cross, lifts it on high, where they can see the 
crucified empaled thereon, and says : “Good people, this holy 
victim suffered uncomplainingly, and I am following Him. 
Let me pass in peace, and pray the heavenly Jesu for my 
welfare.” 

Upon their knees they fall, and the soldiers raise their 
bonnets, as the Cardinal raises his hand in blessing, and so 
he passes on. 

There is a subdued calm and grand courage and an un- 
seen spirit supporting this wonderful man, and all notice 
it, as feeble and broken in body he rides along, yet his en- 
ergy and will keeping him alive and keen to all the happen- 
ings that are sweeping over him now. 

The pace they take is only a walk, and it is late when 
they come to Pomfret, where the abbot and monks receive 
him, the monks holding torches high over their heads, for 
it is dark. 

“Welcome, my lord! Yet sadly welcome this way,” the 
abbot says sorrowfully. 

“It is the King's will, and this is the way he is learning 
to pay his faithful servants,” the Cardinal replies bitterly. 

They carry him in tenderly, for he cannot walk. They 
are shocked at his emaciation, for, but for the fire of his 
eyes he could pass for the dead. 

“To the guest chamber,” the abbot says tenderly. 

“Kay, Father Abbot ! But a layman's cot, and my serv- 
ant to assist me !” and this is where he will lodge. 

Upon his pallet, with crucifix in his hands, he tries, 
amidst the distractions of his broken condition, and accu- 
sations of being a traitor, to pray to the ideal crucified. 

Fac me tecum. \ pie flere, 

Crucifixo condolere. 

Donee ego vixero. 

Juxta crucem tecum stare , 

Ft me tibi so dare 
In planitu desidero . 


250 


By the King’s Command. 

Let me mingle tears with thee , 

Mourning Him who died for me , 

All the days that I may live ; 

By the cross with thee to stay , 

There with thee to tveep and pray , 

Is all I ash of thee , to give. 

The monks’ early bell finds the Cardinal already in the 
chapel, and after the lightest breakfast they lift him again 
into the saddle, and bidding them farewell, they journeyed 
slowly through Doncaster, and on to Sheffield Park. Here 
Earl Percy’s father-in-law, the Earl of Shrewsbury, receives 
him, for he has quietly journeyed from London to do so ; 
and at the castle they carry him to his bed, which he cannot 
leave for three weeks. 


“ Deus in Adjutorium Meum Intende.” 251 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

“deus in adjutorium meum intende” 

For the last three weeks the Earl of Shrewsbury has 
watched the Cardinal with the solicitation of an old friend. 
Earl Percy stayed behind at Cawood to settle and adjust 
his Grace’s affairs, but has now come on to Sheffield Park. 

A dreadful form of dysentery has visited his Eminence, 
with a burning fever as of consuming fire, the dire effects of 
Signor Agostino’s dastardly act. Add to this his injured 
soul, and the lamp of life in his Eminence has been made 
to burn very low. 

There is courage in him though, to face his accusers 
that keeps him alive, and so we find him sitting up in a 
chair, wrapped around with cloaks and comforts, watching 
the fire burning before him on the hearth. 

It is a foggy, raw morning outside, and all that can be 
seen from the Cardinal’s casement are great bare branches 
of trees stripped of their leaves, whose trunks are hidden in 
the fog, which reach out towards him like the gigantic 
hands of some great monster, gnarled and knotty, about to 
take him captive. 

TIis brain is busy with the past, fretting at the ingrati- 
tude shown him by the King, and he cannot shake it off, for 
Henry’s greatness is his life’s meed. As Cavendish comes 
in softly, he mutters, not waiting for a reply, but rambling 
on, “What day is it? But there, what matters it? But 
I would get strong, for I fear not the council ! Let 
them only give me common justice, and I will put them all 
to shame! Treason? When did I ever think it? 
Henry Tudor, hast thou no memories of my life’s devo- 
tion ?” 

Thus he talks to himself, his whole being full of his in- 


252 


By the King’s Command. 

jury ; watching the tire as it sparkles and crackles on the 
hearth, an emblem to him of the instability of life ; for at- 
taining its zenith, the heart and strength being burned out 
of the glowung logs, they fall down broken and strengthless, 
to make room for others to take their places. 

His Grace heaves a sigh and looks round, as he hears 
some one come in. 

“Good morning, your Grace,” the Earl of Shrewsbury 
says. “How bright you look this gloomy morning. Art 
warm enough ? It is good to see you sitting up.” 

“I thank you, my lord. Yes, I am warm, burning up 
inside with fever, but I am gaining in strength, for I long 
to face my accusers.” 

“That sounds like yourself, and it does me good to hear 
you.” 

“They have naught against me. But this Holy One was 
oppressed, and I ought not to murmur,” he says, as he fin- 
gers the crucifix that is about his neck. 

“I was hoping to have word from his Highness to-day, as 
I have reported to him thy condition and pleaded to him 
twice on thy behalf,” the Earl says. 

“Thy friendship touches me deeply. But no use, my 
lord, his Highness hath no use for me !” he says despond- 
ently. 

“Hay, your Eminence. Thy work is not done ! The 
King cannot do without thee.” 

“Ah, my lord ! Thou art kind ! He has done without 
me for a year ! But thy love for me is very acceptable,” he 
replies kindly. 

There is a sound of men and horses heard outside, and 
the Earl hastens away to see who is arriving. In the court- 
yard he finds Sir William Kingston, the Lieutenant of the 
Tower, with a small body of horse, who have come from the 
King to take the Cardinal to the Tower, a prisoner. 

“Good morrow, Sir William. Thou art welcome ! And 
if I put the welcome not first, it is because of thy office. 
For whenever we see thee, we think of our misdeeds, for 
his Highness hath made thy office the reminder of same. 
But whom art thou seeking, or art thou riding farther?” 
the Earl enquires. 

“I take thy welcome as thou intendest it, my lord. And 


“ Deus in Adjutorium Meum Intende.” 253 


I am seeking his Grace the Cardinal Archbishop of York, 
who I learn is with you,” Sir William replies. 

“His Eminence is here, but ill, very ill. He has been at 
the point of death, and so altered is he that I think you 
will scarcely know him. But let us in, Sir William, and 
as thou refreshest thyself we can counsel in the matter.” 

Leading the way to the banqueting hall, while the Earl 
refreshes himself, they are joined by Earl Percy, and Sir 
Walter, and they talk over matters. 

“I really fear that if his Grace is apprised of thy arrival 
he will die on our hands,” Lord Shrewsbury says. 

“I thought the Cardinal was of sterner mould than to be 
frightened to death,” Sir William replies. 

“You know not how ill he has been. It is his old will 
power that is keeping him alive now, to face his accusers,” 
Earl Percy says warmly. 

“The council believes his Grace not so ill as reported,” 
Sir William says. 

“It is not his friends who think that of him, Sir William. 
But you will see for yourself, for I assure you, Wolsey hath 
not lost his courage,” the Earl of Shrewsbury replies. 

“Perhaps I had better not see him, for I would not harm 
his Grace for anything. But who will tell him of my ar- 
rival?” Sir William says, perplexed between friendship and 
duty. 

“Not I, my lords. I have done my unthankful part, upon 
his Highness* express commands. I will not, I cannot hurt 
him further,** Percy says. 

“I am not commanded to do so. I have fulfilled my 
part,** Sir Walter says. 

“I don*t want the office, gentleman. The Cardinal is 
my good friend, and I dare tell you all so,** the Earl of 
Shrewsbury says. 

“And I am sent to bring him alive to the Tower. I 
want not to start out by killing his Grace,** Sir William 
breaks in with, and they all look at each other. 

“Ah ! There is Master Cavendish !’* as Cavendish passes 
towards the Cardinal’s room. “We want thee, Master 
Cavendish!** the Earl of Shrewsbury calls. And as Cav- 
endish comes to the Earl, he says: “Master Cavendish, I 
wish you would please inform his Eminence that Sir Wil- 


254 


By the King’s Command. 

liam Kingston hath arrived from his Majesty the King, to 
conduct him to his Majesty’s presence.” 

“Oh, my lord, I am sorry! He seems better to-day, 
and I am afraid this news will dishearten him,” his faithful 
servant says pityingly. 

“We are all sorry, Master Cavendish, but we are obeying 
stern orders,” says the soldierly Sir William. 

And so Cavendish goes to his Grace and says, “I have 
news for your Grace.” 

“What is it ? But if it is good news, it is something that 
hath been a stranger to me for a long time,” his Grace says, 
languidly. 

“Sir William' Kingston hath arrived to conduct you to 
his Majesty’s presence.” 

Starting in his chair, he lets his hands fall heavily on his 
knees, as if receiving his death sentence, as he gasps, “Sir 
William Kingston! To his Majest}^’s presence? Never, 
Cavendish ! Sir William means the Tower and the heads- 
man’s block! I know! I know! Norfolk, thou art hav- 
ing thy revenge ! But I have yet to face them ! Where is 
Sir William? How comes he not with the message? Tell 
him I am not a child, but wait on his Highness’ word !” 
and he is all life and fire on the instant. 

“Oh, your Grace ! It is not as you think ! They cannot 
mean what you are saying,” Cavendish says, seeing the 
strain upon the Cardinal’s nerves. 

“Hush, man ! I know ! I know ! Send me Sir Wil- 
liam Kingston !” 

As Sir William enters, the will of the indomitable Car- 
dinal flames up, for he tries to assume a semblance of his 
old self. But at the sight of the pale, sunken face and 
(emaciated figure, and his fruitless effort to rise, only to 
sink back into his chair with a groan, Sir William comes 
and kneels at his feet, the tears running down his soldierly 
face, at seeing his good friend, the great Cardinal, this way, 
and he is speechless. 

That strong habit of what is due a representative of the 
King, which he hath so long practised, and exacted from 
others, makes the Cardinal say, “Not to me, Sir William, 
kneel not to me ; thou art the King’s messenger ! And if 
you will not rise, I shall kneel beside you, for I will not 


“ Deus in Adjutorium Meum Intende.” 255 


hear you this way;” and his Grace tries to slide from his 
chair on to his knees. 

“I beg your Grace not to be distressed at my coming, for 
methinks your former great usefulness to his Highness hath 
recalled you.” 

“Thank you. Sir William! I know, but I wish I were 
already there to face them, for my life grows weary to me,” 
he says determinedly. 

“Don’t be of that mind, your Eminence. It is not as you 
think !” 

“When doth his Highness look for me ?” he says wearily. 

“As soon as you can travel.” 

“I am not so lusty as I once was, but will make the 
effort if it kills me. Your words are good, but it would be 
building on the promise of a fool’s paradise for me to take 
comfort in them. May the heavenly Jesu only give me 
strength to face them, for I have a little clearing of my 
conscience with them before I die,” he says, with all the 
vigor he can muster. 

As the Lieutenant of the Tower leaves, the Cardinal is 
plunged in thought until his lingers touch the crucifix 
about his neck, and he talks to the martyr outstretched 
upon it : “Oh, if I had only served Thee, my God, the way I 
have my King, Thou wouldst not have so forsaken me. 
But this cross was Thy tower and headsman’s block. This 
Thy meed for Thy life of redemption! This the world’s 
gratitude for Thy holy emancipation! 

Fac me plagis vulnerari , 

Fac me cruce inebriari, 

Et crurore Filii. 

Flammis ne urar succensus 
Per te, Virgo , sim dcfemus 
In die judicii. 

Wounded with His every wound. 

Steep my soul till it hath swooned 
In His very blood away; 

Be to me, 0 virgin , nigh , 

Lest in flames I burn and die 
In His awful judgment day . 


256 


By the King’s Command. 

Thus he prays, and makes up his mind to obey the King, 
for the next day he is carried to his saddle, and forces him- 
self to press on. 

The soldiers of the guard, as they receive him, take off 
their bonnets, and many have tears in their eyes; but he 
speaks a kindly word to them, and they sympathize with 
him, for many of them have their positions, with Sir Wil- 
liam also, from the late great Chancellor. 

By night time they have made Hardwicke Hall in Not- 
tinghamshire, another of my lord of Shrewsbury’s homes, 
and here they pass the night. 

Slower they go the next day to Nottingham, and slower 
still to Leicester Abbey, which they reach not till it is 
quite dark, and Percy has at last to walk beside him, and 
put his arm about him to hold him on his mule, while the 
sick one puts his arm on Percy’s shoulder. 

It is a banquet to a starving man to receive the fragments 
that a well groomed dog might reject, and the feel of 
Percy’s arm about him draws tears from the Cardinal’s 
heart, for his soul has craved and hungered for the love 
that this act expresses. It is well for him that it is dark 
and he cannot be seen, for the darkness harmonizes with his 
troubled soul, and covers the secret of his weakness, the 
weakness of mighty love* for he is feasting on heavenly 
balm, and a human touch is providing it. 

Flaming torches in the hands of the brethren of the 
Abbey greet them as they come, and the good Father Abbot 
is sadly distressed to see the pitiable condition of his Grace. 

“Oh, my lord ! You are sadly weary !” the Abbot says, as 
by the torches’ glare they all can see that grim death has 
been walking the other side of Percy, and has come to claim 
the resolute victim for his own. 

“Father Abbot, I am come to lay my bones among you, 
and they will rest in this holy house, for I am near to dy- 
ing,” the Cardinal says feebly, and Percy, gathering him in 
his strong arms, carries him to his bed and leaves him not. 

Kneeling by the bedside, he spends his night vigil as a 
son; and through the night watches, from fingering the 
crucifix, the Cardinal’s hand will steal towards Percy’s 
and touch it — that is all — but the touch is after the order 
of the heavenly Christ’s, when His divine fingers brought 


“ Deus in Adjutorium Meum Intende.” 257 


healing with them in man’s infirmity, for this subtlety of 
transmission we all crave, and it is holy balm when given. 

Cavendish releases Percy in the early morning hours, and 
when his Grace awakes his faithful servant is with him. 

“Who is there ?” he says, feeling for Percy's hand. 

“Cavendish, your Grace.” 

“Where is Lord Percy ?” 

“Lying down, your Grace.” 

“It is well. What is the hour ?” 

“It is after eight o’clock, your Grace.” 

“Nay, nay ! At eight o’clock my soul will be in para- 
dise,” he says feebly. 

The day passes wearily for all, as the lamp of life flickers 
feebly on, refusing to go out. Another piece of injustice is 
done the dying man, for the council on rummaging through 
the papers that have been sent to them, sees the Cardinal’s 
account of the money that he has borrowed, and which the 
King covets. As it was not found, they want to know where 
it is, and Sir William Kingston is deputed to ask him. 

But Sir William’s soul is superior to his master’s, for 
he visits his Grace and only incidentally mentions it. 

“That his Highness may not have; I have seen to that. 
I left it with my chaplain to pay back my debts, and left the 
balance for masses to be said for my soul, and it will have 
to be employed soon,” the Cardinal says with scorn. 

“I was obliged to obey his Majesty’s command, or would 
not do so.” 

“I know ! I know, my friend ! And you may come near 
to me, for I am dying, as I have a message for his High- 
ness,” he says, putting forth his hand to Sir William. 

“Talk not of dying, your Eminence. You will confound 
your enemies yet.” 

“God will do that ! But remember what I say to you, 
and give my word to his Highness. Tell him I am receiv- 
ing my just reward for the worldly diligence and pains that 
I have taken to do him service, and that if I had served my 
God as diligently as I have served my King, He would not 
give me over in my gray hairs. Commend me unto him, and 
tell him to search his memory whether I be traitor to him 
or no, for I have not time to answer my accusation. And 


258 


By the King’s Command. 

now farewell ! Forget not my words, and send to me the 
Earl of Northumberland, for I am dying/ 7 he gasps, the 
effort at speech being too much for him. 

Coming to his bedside, Sir William kisses the hand of 
the Cardinal and lifts it to his head for his blessing and 
then goes out qnickly for Percy. 

Percy comes and kneels and takes his hand, when the 
Cardinal steals his arm around his boy’s neck, and tries 
to draw him to him, as he whispers, “Percy, forgive me ! I 
have wrecked thy life ! I see it now clearly ! I should 
have defended thee ! Thou art worthy my life, and I failed 
thee !” 

“I do! I do, my lord! My father !” he says, broken 
hearted. And putting his face down closer, he kisses the 
dying man’s lips, his blinding tears raining down over the 
Cardinal’s poor emaciated face. Heavenly drops, that 
in their liquid pathos refresh the parched soul that drinks 
them in as the very distillations of heaven, as with choking 
sobs he says, “I thank Thee, holy Jesu, for this kindness !” 
and in the exhaustion ensuing, he falls into a fainting spell 
that they think is his last. 

Another weary night passes, death standing ready to reap 
this soul, that in its mighty vigor for life pushes back his 
hand. Early in the morning the last change comes, but it 
comes with a peculiar reaction, for he is to all outward 
appearances better. 

A little wine and broth is brought by Cavendish, when 
he says before touching it, “What day is "this ?” 

“Tuesday morning, your Grace.” 

“And St. Andrew’s eve, and a fast day. Take it away, 
for I want it not.” 

“Thy condition excuses your Grace,” the Abbot says, com- 
ing in. 

“I will not have it. But I will be glad for a confessor !” 

All retire from the bed, when his Eminence makes his 
confession; then he takes leave of all, and composes him- 
self to prayer, Percy kneeling by his side and holding that 
hand that will hold his while it has life to grip. Fingering 
the crucifix, he holds it so that the blessed martyr is seen by 
him, and whispers to it, 


“ Deus in Adjutorium Meum Intende.” 259 


Christe, cum sit liinc exire. 

Da per Matren moe ; venire 
Ad palmam victories , 

Quando corpus morietur, 

Fac ut animae donetur 
Paradisi gloria. 

“ Christ , when thou shalt call me hence , 

Be thy mother my defense. 

Be thy cross my victory ; 

While my body here decays. 

May my soul thy goodness praise. 

Safe in Paradise with Thee . 

“Paradisi gloria !” he whispers earnestly, gazing at the 
blessed Christ before him. Then more londlv, “Dens in 
adjutorium meum intende l" (Incline unto my aid, 0 
God!) 

His eyes becoming staring, the good abbot moves to him 
and anoints him for the dying, while all kneel, weeping. 

Presently he turns to Percy, and with dying gasps, 
he says : “Percy — my — son ! — Para — disi — glor — ia — For 

— gi 99 He cannot finish for his tongue has delivered 

his soul ; and his jaw falls, and the eyes stare, sightless out 
of their ghastly sockets, but see farther and clearer than 
ever on earth, FOR THEY LOOK OK GOD! The soul 
of the persecuted statesman and clever diplomatist is with 
his God. 

And the clock of the Abbey tolls eight ! 

And all look at each other, remembering his words, “At 
eight o’clock my soul will be in Paradise !” 

They bury him in a monk’s plain coffin, dressed in his 
archiepiscopal robes, and as Percy stands beside his grave, 
his soul is sad, for he loved the Cardinal. And as they 
lower him to his last earthly rest he wonders what will come 
to him next in his life’s awful tragedy. 


260 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE PROPHETESS’ WARNING. 

His Majesty is pacing the terrace of the river front of 
Hampton Court Palace, musing on the Cardinal’s death, 
and his divorce matter; and I am waiting for any com- 
mands he may have for me, when Master Thomas Crom- 
well, formerly one of the Cardinal’s secretaries, and now the 
King’s, comes for any orders the King may have for him. 

His Majesty seeing him, he acts as if he is glad, for com- 
ing to us, he says to Master Cromwell, “And so thy old mas- 
ter is dead.” 

“Yes, Sire, and I am sorry.” 

“And so am I. For I doubt if I can do without him for 
a little while. But there, I am glad I gave not the Chan- 
cellorship to my lord of Norfolk, for he killed Wolsey, and 
it serves him right not to get it.” Thus he speaks of the 
man who gave his whole life to him. 

Presently he says: “Hast heard of Dr. Cranmer, and 
what he is doing ?” 

“Yes, Sire. His work is prospering, and he is having 
success abroad, winning many of the universities to your 
Highness’ cause ; and he will be home shortly.” 

“Then I can get along without Wolsey after all,” the 
King says, unfeelingly. 

“Your Majesty hath many faithful servants willing to 
serve you,” Cromwell says. 

“Willingness is not usefulness, Master Cromwell. Where 
didst thou learn thy diligence, for I notice you have some ?” 
he says, inquisitively. 

“In Italy, Sire, under that ruler of men, Machiavelli; 


The Prophetess’ Warning. 261 

and also my lord Cardinal Wolsey, who patterned in many 
things after him.” 

“Wolsey was a genius, and a master of men,” he says, as 
he measures the man before him. 

Master Cromwell is a man eminently fitted to follow 
Wolsey’s leadings. The Cardinal taught the King most of 
his skill in king-craft, for kings LEARN THEIR POWER 
from their subjects’ toleration, and what they can be made 
to bear. Rising from the ranks, as Wolsey did, he knew the 
commoners’ side of life, and introduced a subjectionary 
abasement by repressive measures from the nobles, towards 
the King, and also towards himself, as he rose above them, 
that has educated the King into expecting it as his right, 
and many of the nobles hated Wolsey for this, and were 
ready to hound him to death for it. 

Had Wolsey lived and stayed in power, he would have 
wrought a regenerated Romanism in the Church in Eng- 
land and not a PROTEST against it; but it is the man 
standing before his Majesty who is to lead him to the chaos 
of absolutism, for he has that in him to do it. 

The King is religious, but it is the religion of formalism, 
that is akin to fatalism ; for much of the good of his for- 
mer character is being burned out of him ; and in its place 
there is coming the hardened cruelty of despotism. For the 
King is growing cruel, and we notice it, as his arbitrary 
will is forced upon us all. 

Walking to a seat and sitting down, his Majesty looks 
keenly at Master Cromwell and says, “Master Secretary, 
how think you the clergy and people would take a decision 
of divorce in our matter, given by our Archbishop in our 
courts ?” 

“Sire, they would have to accept it if I were — but I 
beg your Highness’ pardon,” he says, checking himself 
quickly, “I am forgetting I am talking to the King.” 

“Nay, man, out with it ! I would hear thy true mind in 
the matter !” 

“Then, your Highness, if I were King, I would make 
them all obey me,” he says bluntly. 

“Art thou infidel and carest not for holy church ?” 

“No, Sire, I am no infidel. But it is reasonable to think 
that churchly matters belonging to England should be bet- 


262 


By the King’s Command. 

ter adjudicated upon in England than by a foreigner, even 
if that one be his Holiness, who knows little of the matter, 
and lives in Rome,” he startlingly replies. 

“There is sense in that. But what if the Holy Father 
think not that way ?” 

“Teach him to do so. Sire. He will soon learn. The 
Emperor Charles is doing so, and the Holy Father does his 
bidding,” he says boldly. 

“That is true,” he says, as the words of his secretary 
come to him with a boldness that surpasses his own. 

“It would be more knightly of the Emperor to wage war 
on your Highness in championing his queenly aunt’s cause 
than for him to get his Holiness to annoy you.” 

“And he sent that old dotard of a Campeggio, who fooled 
me !” he says in disgust. 

“You should never have given him back the decretal, Sire, 
and so I told Cardinal Wolsey, and he agreed with me.” 

“Did he? But Campeggio reached for it, saying he 
would deliver it to me formally after the trial. And that 
is how a churchman keeps his word,” he says, his eyes 
blazing, as he thinks how he was duped. 

“He could have delivered to your Highness A BLANK 
PARCHMENT after the trial, and trusted you with the 
Holy Father’s decretal ; and your Highness’ hnatter’ would 
be happily settled,” he says with shrewd cunning. 

“They have tricked me all the way through, and it is mv 
turn now, and I will let them see. And I like thy bold 
speech. Master Secretary, and if thou art as quick in doing 
as in advising, perhaps I can use thee, and to your own ad- 
vantage,” the King says warmly. “But what wouldst thou 
do now in the matter?” he asks, and looks keenly for Mas- 
ter Cromwell’s reply. 

“Let your courts decide for your Highness, and let his 
Holiness fall into line,” Cromwell says flatly and to the 
point. 

“And should the Holy Father refuse to confirm same?” 

“Act independently, Sire, and England will stand with 
England’s King, even if his Holiness threaten you.” 

“That might mean that his Holiness, with the Emperor, 
might coax France to an alliance with them against me, 
which might cause England rivers of blood.” 


263 


The Prophetess’ Warning. 

“Forestall them, Sire. Take King Francis into your 
councils. He has no love for the Emperor, for he was too 
recently his captive, and would be glad for an opportunity 
of retaliation. King Francis, with your Highness, would 
keep Scotland peaceable, so that you can well defy Rome, 
for defying Rome means defying the Emperor,” he says, 
diplomatically, to the King’s admiration. 

“Thou art right, and I will visit Francis. Thou shalt 
go with the letter of my intentions. And I will take the 
lovely Marchioness with me, and we will go in state, and 
the King of France shall see the jewel that is to be 
England’s Queen. And we will now to York House, Master 
Secretary, where we will arrange for thy departure immedi- 
ately. And you, Master Wyatt, I will leave to inform the 
Marchioness of Pembroke that I am called away, but will 
return to-morrow ; and that I will bring her a secret matter 
that will please her. But tell her not what it is,” he says, 
as he strides towards the palace. 

As Cromwell follows the King, he thinks : “Ah, Wolsey, 
thou hast taught me well ! But thou didst carry too much 
soul in thy body for thine own good, and thy priestly func- 
tions pinned a conscience to thy frock, and it wrecked 
thee ! But I will be no priestling like Mr. Secretary Gard- 
iner who, with his mad zeal, noses out heretics like a terrier 
does rats, for methinks I was not born with such a con- 
science, but am cynical ; and I will lay myself at the feet of 
his Majesty, who is the prince of cynics, and a tremendous 
believer in HIMSELF.” 

Being dismissed, I mount my horse and ride away 
through the forest towards Sheen, where I know the Mar- 
chioness’ party have gone, and have the good luck to meet 
them returning, and I give her the King’s message. 

As we come riding along we meet a band of gipsies, and 
an old wrinkled hag separates herself from the rest and 
plants herself directly in our path, and waits for us to come 
up to her. 

She is very tall and spare and has something of a com- 
manding figure, and with her well grizzled locks could pass 
for the grandmother of the tribe. She stands with one 
skinny arm raised, and with pointing finger, and we see 
that a huge snake is coiled about her, and that its ugly head 


264 


By the King’s Command. 

lies along her raised arm, and its wicked eyes gleam at ns, 
as its darting tongue touches her flesh. 

She looks like some weird prophetess of old, as with 
croaKing voice she calls, “Hail to the future Queen of 
England !” and bows low before “Hector” with the Mar- 
chioness upon his back, and who refuses to pass close to the 
turbaned, gaudily bedizened hag that stands in his path. 

“Egyptiani, my lord !” the Marchioness says to Lord 
Percy at her side. “I saw them in France when they came 
to the castle at Pau to meet Queen Margaret of Navarre.” 

“She is an extraordinary creature, but what does she 
want ?” Percy says. 

Walking towards “Hector” as near as he will let her come, 
she gazes into the Marchioness’ eyes and says, “I told you in 
France, pretty one, that ‘Love was killed and yet alive !’ 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! He who rides at thy side hath more love for 
you than any other, though he is not the King, and though 
thou shalt be QUEEN OF ENGLAND.” 

There is such magic about the uncanny, fantastic crea- 
ture, that Percy says, “Who told you all this ? Art thou not 
afraid of being publicly whipped as a witch?” 

“No, my lord, whose love was foiled by the King’s craft ! 
A daughter of King Zindl, descended from the great At- 
sinkan, who listened to the Christian magician Saul of 
Tarsus, and whose race runs back to King Abraham’s son, 
Ishmael, is not afraid of any kingly tyrant, and certainly 
not Henry of England, some of whose subjects are ready 
to dispute his kingly title. And there is not a man among 
ye dare touch me here while I have this protector with me.” 

Speaking a word to the snake, it raises its head, and its 
wicked looking eyes blaze, as it gets ready to strike any 
that shall come near it; and the horses snort and move 
backward. But the hag, quieting it, says, “I have a word 
of warning for the future Queen, if she cares to come to 
me at set of sun this night, with but few escort.” 

“But where shall I come? You have not told me?” the 
Marchioness says. 

“Come to the tree thou wast once crowned under !” and 
giving a guttural laugh, she moves out of the path, as she 
beckons with her skinny finger and calls, “Come to the 


The Prophetess’ Warning. 265 

Queen’s daughter ! Come to the eagle tree ! I will show 
the Queen that is to be, her future !” 

“Is she not a strange creature? Queen Margaret gave 
her audience. There are several hundred of them, and 
one they call a king ! This witch creature they call Queen. 
They hold letters from the Emperor, and Pope Clement; 
for they showed them to the Queen of Navarre, and she 
gave them a letter. They have gold in abundance, though 
they refused not the gold the Queen gave them. We will 
certainly go and see them; it will be quite an adventure,” 
the Marchioness says, running on in the excitement of 
it all. 

“They look like a pack of cut-throats to me, Anne, and 
I should not go near them,” the Viscount Rochford says 
positively. 

“Art afraid? Why, it will be an adventure, George. 
You will go with me?” she says sweetly to Percy. 

“I will do anything or go anywhere for you, though the 
Viscount’s words are thoughtful,” he says, not wishing 
to displease her. 

“Then we will go !” she says in her positive way. “But 
how could she know I am a Marchioness ? And how could 
she know I was once crowned under the eagle tree? And 
she seemed to know thee, my lord,” she says to Percy, and 
she blushes as she remembers what the gipsy said about 
them. 

“She has been talking to some of the retainers,” I say. 

“Why, Thomas, what retainers would know about that 
incident? We had no retainers with us on that day, if 
you remember,” she replies. 

I do remember. And I also remember my jealousy of 
Percy on that occasion, as we ride towards the eagle tree 
towards sunset. A small party of us go — my sister Mary 
Wyatt, Mistress Anne Saville, Viscount Rochford, Henry 
Norris, Earl Percy, the Marchioness and myself. 

The sun is nearly setting, as, making our way through 
the tall bracken, we come out to the clear space and the 
giant oak, where is the eagles’ nest. 

Looking skyward, we see two black specks that are sail- 
ing round and round, evidently watching their eyrie, and 
wondering who the intruders are of their lonely retreat. 


266 


By the King’s Command. 

There are no signs of a numerous assemblage ; but at the 
foot of the great oak is a large tent constructed of great 
brown blankets, specially woven to shed rain, open in 
front, the folds secured with pin-thorns. Just inside is a 
fire burning, that sends a thin, curling white smoke out 
at the hole in the roof that rises like incense to the sky. 
Two smaller tents stand off to one side, and everything is 
orderly around them, and there is an absence of the tatter- 
demalion and ragdom that usually belong to such people. 

The sound of the horses brings the gipsy queen to the 
door of her tent, and she is a commanding figure as she 
stands there, dressed in a long, flowing, brilliant red 
underskirt, over which is a green velvet cloak edged with 
gold, worn toga-like, and showing snowy linen under- 
neath. Upon her head is a turban of red and green silk 
India work; her feet are sandaled, and about her neck is 
a chain of gold, and upon her fingers valuable rings, that 
sparkle with gems as she moves her hands. 

She looks a queen, as she stands gaunt and erect, her 
commanding eyes and strong face set with that look of 
fatality that such characters have. Placing a tiny whistle 
to her lips, she blows twice, when out of the bracken 
there come a dozen swarthy looking Egvptiani, bare 
headed and rudely attired. With a wave of her hand she 
points to the horses, and they immediately come to us and 
hold stirrup and bridle for us to dismount. 

“I am not sure we intend to dismount,” Earl Percy says. 

“Then why come? Are nobles afraid of an old woman? 
What is the maid that is to he your Queen here for, if she 
may not consult with one grown weary in ruling?” she 
says, strongly. 

Sending a piercing look at the Marchioness, she is out 
of her saddle in an instant and goes to the gaunt gipsy 
as if drawn to her by some subtle charm. We all dismount, 
and the gipsy queen says : “There is one here who will give 
you welcome, while I talk with your future Queen, with 
but one of her ladies.” Calling into the tent in a tongue 
unknown to us, there comes forth a tall, swarthy, noble- 
looking figure, dressed partly like the nobility of the times, 
but with a cloak worn like a toga over his fine silken shirt ; 
a velvet cap covers his grizzled locks, and his face is fine 


The Prophetess’ Warning. 267 

and strong in its age, for he must have seen more than 
threescore and ten summers. 

“The king of the Eomani and father of his people,” the 
aged crone says, and touching the Marchioness upon the 
arm, she holds back the curtain folds and releases the pin- 
thorns as she says “Come !” and I push my sister Mary in 
after them, and the curtains fall behind them. 

The two ladies find themselves in a spacious tent, whose 
sides are hung with costly Persian stuff in subdued colors. 
Under them are Turkish rugs that their feet sink into, and 
the fire that they saw from the outside is made upon laid 
tiles, four square, near the door of the tent. Back in the 
tent there is a long supporting rustic seat, heaped up with 
silken cushions, and along the back of which is stretched 
out the great snake. 

The gipsy queen goes and sits down upon this seat, and 
invites them to do so with her; but seeing the snake lay 
its head upon her shoulder and let its evil tongue play 
upon her face, they cannot. 

“Thou needest not be afraid of my protector,” the gipsy 
says, patting the evil creature. “Thou hast not lived near 
to nature, like we, the children of nature, therefore ye do 
not understand.” And blowing on her whistle softly, 
from the back of the tent a dark skinned maiden comes 
and places two seats immediately before the gipsy queen. 

Sitting down with quite a little fear, the two ladies face 
the Egyptiani, when she says, “Talk to me!” 

Plucking up a little courage, the Marchioness says: “I 
saw you at Pau, at Queen Margaret’s. You told her 
many strange things that came true. Perhaps you can tell 
me some, as }ou call me by a name and title that hath no 
higher in the land.” 

Looking keenly at the Marchioness, she says, “Thou 
hast no mother! Thou hast poor advisers! Thy heart’s 
love is in a man’s soul who will never be thy husband! 
Thou art not happy with thy hurrying destiny! Thou 
art to be Queen of England, but woe to the day the crown 
presses thy brow, for the roses of England of which it is 
composed, will fade, and leave it but a crown of thorns 
upon they brow, poor heart, until it kills thee,” she says 
in an emphatic way. 


268 By the King’s Command. 

“But how know you all this?” the Marchioness says 
bravely. 

“Thou art not wholly to blame, though thou art beau- 
ful !” the crone goes on. “But askest me for proofs ? 
Darest look on while I show them to you ?” 

“Yes, I dare ! But if harm comes to me, know that thou 
wouldst he flayed alive by the King of England,” the Mar- 
chioness responds with spirit. 

“I am not afraid of England’s cruel king, motherless 
girl. And I will show you your future, that thou mayest 
be warned of what is before thee.” 

Reaching beneath her cushioned divan, she draws forth 
a box of sandal wood, and, opening it, takes out something 
wrapped in many silken folds, which proves to be a ball 
of crystal, of purest lustre, and to w T hich is attached a 
gold chain, ending with a hook. 

Handling it most carefully, and daintily wiping it with 
its silken covering, she goes to the fire and suspends it 
from a cross-beam ; then, taking something from her bosom, 
she casts it upon the coals, that causes a curling smoke to 
ascend and play around the ball, that defileth it not, but 
gives forth a pungent, aromatic odor that pervades the 
tent. 

The ladies are spellbound as they gaze, for the ball 
seems to have taken the soul of the fire into itself, and 
glows like a red star in the darkness. Walking to the 
Marchioness, the gipsy touches her upon the eyes, and says, 
“Look ! What dost thou see ? Speak !” 

The ball seems to the Marchioness to dilate and grow 
large, and intently gazing she sees a stately fane that 
shapes itself to an Abbey. As the picture grows, she says : 
“It is a cathedral and a coronation scene. The church is 
filled with life, and there is one moving forward to be 
crowned. It looks like — it is — MYSELF! The crown 
touches my head, and rests upon it, and all are glad! 
But, oh, it fades ! It grows dark !” 

“Look again ! What seest thou ? Speak !” the gipsy 
says in a commanding voice. 

“It is a chamber and one lies upon the bed dying! It 
is — it is Queen Katherine, with hands outstretched for 
her husband, and he comes not ! But it fades also !” 


269 


The Prophetess’ Warning. 

“Look again !” 

“It is the King’s private audience room, and a young 
maid is sitting upon the King’s knee! And I come in — 
yes, it is I ! And I am angry, and the King threatens me ! 
But it fades!” the Marchioness says with terror in her 
face. 

“Once more! What dost thou see?” the gipsy com- 
mands. 

Terrifiedly she speaks: “It is a scaffold with crowds 
about it, and a headsman’s block ! And some are coming 
and mounting it, and they are women ! Great God, Mary 
Wyatt, thou art there ! And I come also — I kneel — lay my 

head ” and the Marchioness falls forward against Mary 

Wyatt and swoons away. 

It is Mary’s screams that bring us into the tent, when 
Earl Percy fiercely says, “What have you done to this lady 
with your ogreish devilments, you hag ?” 

“Peace ! Or you may be torn limb from limb, if thou art 
heard ! And let the lady recover,” the Egyptian says, giv- 
ing her a little water. 

The Marchioness recovering, says, “The crystal ! the crys- 
tal ! I would see more !” 

“What does she mean, Mary Wyatt? Wliat does she 
mean, you hag ?” the Viscount George says angrily, for the 
gipsy hath secreted away the crystal ball. 

“Peace again I say, and back ! Look above you ! Thou 
art in danger !” 

Dangling from the cross-beam is the snake threatening 
them, that makes them all recoil. 

The Viscount’s sword is out on the instant, and the rep- 
tile would have been sliced in two, but the queen, design- 
ing his meaning, raises her arms, when it glides to her neck 
in all its anger. Then raising her whistle she blows on it 
sharply three times, when she says, “I have saved thee from 
death, all of ye. Hadst thou slain this sacred veneration of 
our tribe, thou couldst not pass from here alive. And even 
now hundreds of angry men are at the tent folds ready to 
cut ye to pieces an I give not a good account of ye, that ye 
may go unmolested,” she says rapidly. 

The Marchioness in fear of their lives, quickly says, “I 


270 


By the King’s Command. 

only fainted. This venerable prophetess and mighty queen 
hath done me a great service, beyond all reward. But take 
this from me, and be sure I shall lay to heart what I have 
seen, and may the holy Jesu guide my future days,” and 
she hands the gipsy some golden nobles, and a chain of 
gold. 

“Maiden, thou art lovely, and hath a gentle soul,” the 
gipsy says. “Too gentle for thy hard destiny ! Thou 
canst avoid same by fleeing from it, but how ? I have not 
wisdom myself to guide thee ! Here is my gift for thee. 
Two hairs from the great king magician Abraham, taken 
from his tomb, and woven with the hair of the great At- 
sinkan, around this gold ring. Abraham, thou remember- 
est, talked with the Deity over the divination of fire* 
as thou hast done; and he was talked to at set of sun as 
thou hast been this night. Wear this ring and good will 
follow thee ; lose it and ill fortune will find thee. 

“I have said enough, and now farewell ! I have done 
thee a great favor, greater than thou art aware of, but thou 
needest such, as thou art motherless.” 

Going to the tent folds, she pins them back, when to 
their astonishment they see several hundred armed, and 
some of them mounted men, with swarthy, evil looking 
faces, and at their head the King of the Romani. 

Our horses are away in the rear, but Percy giving his 
peculiar whistle, calls “Hector” to him, and the noble beast 
fights his way to us, though several of the knaves hang to 
his bridle. 

Laying her hand on the Earl’s arm, the gipsy whispers 
to him, “She loves thee, and thou dost love her ; guard her 
well !” 

Beckoning with her hands, the gipsy queen orders the 
horses brought, when the Romani King says, “Thy call 
sounded of menace and threat, hast thou any commands 
for us ?” 

“Yes. Give the future Queen of Ehgland thy royal 
salute.” 

Lifting the Marchioness to the saddle we ride through 
as desperate a lot of cut-throats as it would be possible to 
get together, as they make a lane for us to pass through 


* Gen. xv., 12-18. 


The Prophetess’ Warning. 271 

them, standing with their evil weapons of all description, 
at salute. 

We are informed on the morrow to prepare to go to 
France, to accompany his Majesty and the Marchioness to 
the court of King Francis. 


272 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

THE MEETING OF THE TWO KINGS. 

Back from the sea on a hill, overlooking the English 
Channel, in the northwest corner of the King of France’s 
dominions, is the Castle and Citadel of Boulogne, some- 
times called Bononia. Surrounded by ramparts and en- 
tered by massive gates, the city is built to withstand a siege. 
The river Liane runs at the foot of the castle, making it 
impossible for the besieged to want for water, and the great 
castle has been built to resist the King’s northern enemies, 
and especially the English, who possess Calais. 

The King of France has come to Boulogne to meet King 
Henry, who has landed at Calais, upon an agreement with 
the King of England, to confer with him about an alli- 
ance with the Emperor Charles to withstand the Turks, as 
Christian kings, for the good of Christendom. 

The Turks, under their renowmed Sultan, Soliman II., 
are threatening and invading Eastern Europe ; and the two 
piratical brothers Barbarossa, are sweeping the Mediter- 
ranean, to the destruction of all Christian commerce. 
Nothing could suit King Henry better than this, to enter 
into an alliance with Francis, and the Emperor, being busy 
fighting the Turks will have to drop his aunt the Queen of 
England’s cause, thus leaving Henry free to do as he 
pleases in marrying the Marchioness and defying the 
Pope. 

King Francis, with a large and brilliant retinue, is ex- 
pecting the King of England hourly. He is a man of 
kingly bearing, with an amiable and kindly face, that hath 
a charm of gaiety and winsomeness about it, pleasing to all 
beholders. He has large eyes, an olive complexion, lips 


The Meeting of the Two Kings. 273 

inclined to thickness, rather a long nose ; broad shouldered, 
of more than the average height, he carries himself with a 
proud bearing, as he converses with the Duke de Vendome. 

He is dressed exquisitely in a doublet of golden tissue, 
daintily worked; his shirt of finest silk shows through the 
opening of his doublet, and his cloak of purple velvet, 
edged with strands of gold and ermine lined, adds to the 
breadth and squareness of his shoulders. He wears jew- 
elled collars about his neck, and his cap has a jewelled 
brooch ; his fingers are ringed, and his shoes are ornamented 
with flashing diamond buckles. His movements are grace- 
ful and easy, as turning to his Chancellor, the Cardinal de 
Granvelle, he says, “How think you the King of England 
will take the absence of Queen Eleanor ?” 

“I am sure he would like to have the countenance of 
Queen Eleanor, but his good judgment should surely show 
him that it is impossible, Sire, seeing he is treating the 
Queen’s aunt, Katherine of England, so hardly,” the 
Cardinal replies. 

“We shall have to be diplomatic, for it takes little to 
offend our mighty neighbor.” 

“Since we are in mourning for our mother, Sire, his 
Majesty should excuse Queen Eleanor, and I will endeavor 
to do honors for thee worthily,” the King’s sister, the 
beautiful Queen of Navarre, replies. 

“Your Majesty is always good and obliging, and a de- 
voted sister,” the King says affectionately to Queen Mar- 
garet. 

“Why, TJncle, there will be no difficulty. You have only 
to treat with a blind man,” Triboulet, the King’s jester, 
says. 

“What, is King Henry blind? We had not heard 
same.” 

“In LOVE, Uncle! And they say he is hopelessly so, 
for he cannot see the saintly qualities of the good Queen 
Katherine, and a kinder lady is not alive.” 

“Many are blind the same way, fool. But methinks I 
hear the signal from the gates, and our illustrious guest 
must be in sight, and so we will mount and meet him,” the 
King says. 

Nearing the citadel is a grand cavalcade of a thousand 


274 


By the King’s Command. 

horse, with the very flower of England, and his Majesty 
King Henry riding at their head. He is preceded by 
heralds, pursuivants and trumpeters, who, when within, 
sight of the citadel, flare out a fanfare to announce the 
coming of his Majesty. 

It is answered from the gates, and soon King Francis 
and a gallant train ride forth to meet the royal visitor. 

King Henry is riding with the Marchioness of Pem- 
broke, and the Duchess of Suffolk, followed immediately by 
their Graces of Norfolk and Suffolk, who ride with the Mar- 
chioness of Dorset and Lady Eochford; then the Lord 
High Chancellor and the Earl of Wiltshire, who ride with 
the Marchioness of Derby and the Countess of Wiltshire; 
while we of the younger set are well in the rear, for it is a 
brave company. 

King Henry looks with admiration at the Marchioness, 
and wonders what the King of France will think of her, 
for she is lovely beyond compare, and looks truly royal as 
she rides along. 

“I am anxious you shall make a good impression upon 
the King of France, for the heads of Europe are turned 
as to the future Queen of England,” he says admiringly to 
her. 

“I am more content if I fail not in thy estimation, Sire,” 
she smilingly replies. 

“I am afraid lovers are unreliable,” he says gallantly. 
“But here are their Majesties. No, the Queen of France 
is not there. Francis comes alone, with his sister, her 
Majesty of Navarre,” he says, a shade of disappointment 
coming. 

“I am glad, Sire. I love the Queen of Navarre,” the 
Marchioness says with real joy. 

“But I wish Queen Eleanor had come to meet thee !” he 
says with pique. “And what will Francis have to say be- 
cause of her absence, for Katherine is her aunt ?” 

There is not time for more words, for as the cavalcades 
nearly meet each other, both Kings dismount from their 
horses, and going to each other cordially embrace. 

“Cousin of England, I am glad to see thee ! Thou art 
honoring our poor country with thy presence,” the King of 
France says cordially. 


The Meeting of the Two Kings. 275 

“Glad am I to see thee, Cousin, and also thy queenly sis- 
ter, whose devotion to your Highness when with the Em- 
peror is the admiration of the world. But I trust Queen 
Eleanor is not sick ?” King Henry says enquiringly. 

“Allow me to welcome your Highness in the name of her 
Majesty, who, since the burial of our mother, Queen 
Louise of Savoy, has been in poor health. And indeed we 
regret meeting your Highness so mournfully, but it is only 
a few weeks since so great a loss happened to his Majesty^s 
family,” the Queen of Navarre says cordially. 

King Henry has listened intently for the excuse now 
offered for the absence of Queen Eleanor, which could be 
construed as an affront to himself, for the truth is she will 
not meet the man who is persecuting her aunt, Queen 
Katherine. But satisfied with the explanation, he gal- 
lantly replies, “Your Majesty is most gracious, and his 
Highness is specially favored in having you to represent 
her Majesty. I am sorry to intrude upon you at such a 
time, but state affairs of Christendom will not wait, even 
for the inconsolable grief that must be yours, at the death 
of so august a mother. And in visiting your Majesties, I 
have brought with me one who esteems none more highly 
on earth than the Christian Queen of Navarre, and has 
only words of loving praise for her virtues,” the King says 
gallantly. Leading the Marchioness forward, the King 
says, “This is my most dear and esteemed friend, the Mar- 
chioness of Pembroke.” 

King Francis is captivated with the radiant beauty of 
the Marchioness, bowing low before him, and before she 
can incline to her knees to kiss his hand, he catches her 
two hands in his and prevents her with, “Thy dear friend, 
Cousin, is an old friend of mine, and I am delighted to 
greet so beautiful a rose of England.” 

“Your Majesty hath not lost the charm that is native to 
the Court of France, and it is a joy to hear the music of 
her language,” the Marchioness replies. 

“Come, sister ! Here is thy dear friend,” he says to the 
Queen of Navarre, who, coming forward^ kisses her on 
both cheeks, as she says, “Welcome, dear friend. I am glad 
to see thee. We shall have opportunity to indulge in 


276 By the King’s Command. 

subjects dear to us both while their Highnesses attend to 
matters of state.” 

King Henry looks on with delight at the reception given 
his favorite, and cordially greets the Duke de Vendome, 
the Chancellor Cardinal de Granvelle, the Cardinal of 
Lorraine, Admiral Bonnivet, the renowned Anne de Mont- 
morency, and many others. Introductions and greetings 
take place on both sides, many of us being presented to 
their Majesties, and it takes quite a little while before all 
are mounted, and the King of France leads out with King 
Henry on his right, and the Marchioness of Pembroke on 
his left, while the Queen of Navarre rides to the right of 
King Henry. 

And so we come to Boulogne where for nearly two weeks 
we are entertained by King Francis royally, and then the 
French King and court come to Calais, to be the King of 
England’s guest for nearly the same period. 

The time is taken up with diplomatic issues that King 
Henry thinks a perfect triumph to himself and a credit 
to the new diplomacy of Master Thomas Cromwell. 

We of the younger set revel in hunting and hawk- 
ing, in tournaments and masks, and have our till of the 
excitement that is dear to knightly chivalry. 

The evening before King Francis’s departure, a grand 
supper and masque is given in their Majesties’ honor. 
The Marchioness has planned with her ladies that after the 
grand banquet they will slip away and reappear as the 
“Pleiades,” or the seven daughters of Atlas, who being pur- 
sued by Orion, were aided by Jupiter, and changed into 
doves, when they flew away to the heavens and became the 
“Seven Sisters” in the stellar universe. 

The banquet is held in the great hall of the citadel, King 
Francis and King Henry, with the Queen of Navarre and 
the Marchioness (who is specially invited by King Henry) 
sitting at a table removed from the many guests. 

The two Kings are well pleased with each other, and 
the success of their schemes, and are enjoying this last ban- 
quet together to the full. 

Some ortolans are being partaken of, and the two dwarfs 
are hovering around their masters’ chairs, waiting for an 
unctuous morsel to be handed to them. His Majesty of 


The Meeting of the Two Kings. 277 

France is very fond of them, and so is Triboulet, his fool, 
and his longing for them unloosens his tongue, and so he 
says, “Uncle, those birds I should be afraid to eat were 
I you.” 

“Why, fool?” 

“Because they are such stupid birds, and should be 
called ‘dullards/ and you are at risk in eating them, for 
you are dull enough already, and are only saved by my fur- 
nishing you with wit,” the greedy dwarf says. 

“Thou ape, with thy conceit ; thou art greedy. But why 
should they be called ‘dullards* ?” 

“Why? Because they are caught, and put in the dark, 
and gorge themselves to fatness almost to bursting, only to 
be killed and fed to another.** 

“But I d'on*t see why that should be a reason for a 
change of name.** 

“Why, Uncle, they ‘ought-to-learn* not to be greedy, and 
so save their necks, and they are surely ‘dullards* for not 
doing so, and I would call them that.” 

“Then I will see that thy neck is in no danger, for thou 
shalt not have any/* the King says, laughing, at which 
Triboulet makes a wry face. 

“Many a bird other than an ortolan loses his neck by his 
greed, fool/* King Henry says merrily. 

“Yes, Uncle, but that shows wherein fools are wiser than 
men. For our wisdom is to excel as fools, and ye are con- 
tent, while most men-fools come to their ruin by ambitions 
at wisdom, and failing, hang the wrong end of their 
bauble.” 

“How is that?” says King Francis. 

“Why, Uncle, thou art growing more dull by eating so 
many of those birds,” the fool says, taking a bird from his 
master*s plate. “For, see here,” and attaching a bird to 
the end of his bauble, he hangs it dangling before them, 
as he sagely remarks, “I prefer my fooTs place of holding 
on to my staff, and am not ambitious that my staff should 
hold me.” 

“Then thou never expectest to be hung, brother?** 
Will Somers enquires. 

“That is an English barbarism for caitiffs,” says Tri- 
boulet. 


278 


By the King’s Command. 

“Barbarism, you call it ? We hang our meat to tender if, 
and you say it is the best. We hang out our flag, and the 
men run to arms ; and when Uncle is pleased with me, he 
says, ‘Go and be hanged/ so you see it is a King’s compli- 
ment.” 

“Thy English tongue is barbarous,” Triboulet says in 
disgust. 

“I think not so,” King Francis says, inclining towards 
the Marchioness, “for I understand the English also in- 
clude ^hanging upon one’s words and lips,’ and I should 
be surprised if the royal Henry did not upon thine, for I 
never saw a fairer rose, not even in sunny France.” 

“That is a doubtful compliment, Sire, for we always 
think of lilies when we come to France,” the Marchioness 
naively replies. 

“Thou dost correct me truly, lily lips, and rosy cheeks; 
thou art adorned with both,” he replies gallantly. 

Making an excuse, that King Henry understands, the 
Marchioness withdraws from the banquet, and some of her 
ladies with her. Shortly after, the banquet comes to an 
end, and the stately hall is prepared for dancing. 

Presently, to the sound of music, four lady heralds, 
masked with velvet masks, and dressed in crimson satin, 
with tabards of pine Cyprus, enter the hall, blowing silver 
trumpets. 

As they advance, they are answered by his Majesty’s 
herald, when they ask permission for the “Seven Con- 
stellations” to visit the Kings of France and England and 
the beautiful Queen of Navarre, who they learn are staying 
at this castle. 

“Give them our royal greeting, lovely heralds, and tell 
them we are impatient to see them,” King Henry says cor- 
dially. 

Departing as they came, they soon return, conducting 
the “Pleiades,” all masked. They are dressed in cloth of 
gold, slashed and puffed with cloth of silver, and knit with 
laces of gold. In their hair are golden stars. In their hands 
they carry starry wands, and upon their wrists are snowy 
doves confined with chains of gold. 

As they come, their leader breaks out into song, flooding 
the hall with her voice — 


The Meeting of the Two Kings. 279 

Seven sisters , pure and bright , 

Shining down on earth's dark night , 

Leaving starry space on high, 

To visit earth's fair majesty . 

Orion chased us, 

Jupiter changed us. 

Doves we upward flew. 

To the starry blue. 

Souls in the heavens toward earth incline. 

Maiden hearts for lovers pine. 

Heaven a desert would be, no doubt. 

Were love and mate-ship put to rout. 

Orion's vanquished, 

Artemis slew him. 

Doves, we downward flew. 

To lovers' hearts so true. 

As the song ends, they join hands and dance together, 
then releasing the doves, they come to their Majesties, 
when King Henry says, “Fair Satellites, we give you 
hearty welcome. We are glad to be visited by beings of so 
fair a world from which thou comest, and as thou dancest 
so divinely, if thou canst do so with poor mortals, I beg 
you will choose you each a partner and give some of us that 
pleasure.” 

“Most willingly, your Highness,” the beautiful song- 
stress says, and going to King Francis she says, “May I 
have the pleasure with your Kingly Highness?” 

“Certainly, fair star,” and he leads her out. 

Years gone by he has danced with her before and being 
masked, and guessing who she is, he sighs, as he says, 
“Ah me ! Clouds always did oppress me.” 

“Art thou disconsolate. Sire ?” she asks. 

“Yes, fairest star. I love cloudless skies.” 

“Are thine not fair, Sire ?” 

“Hot while darkness obscures it.” 

“I would I could lift the cloud for thee. Sire.” 

“Thou canst, by removing that black cloud from thy 
face.” 

“Then thou wouldst recognize the Pleiad, Sire.” 


280 


By the King’s Command. 

“I know now, fair star. But the light of the eye is the 
sweets of the soul, and I know also that none of thy ra- 
diance should he hidden, for Providence created thee a star 
to reign,” he says, with the gallantry he is noted for. 

Saying this, the King takes the mask from her face 
which falls to the floor as he says, “Now thou art radiantly 
beautiful, 0 soul of the Pleiades ! And if his Majesty 
King Henry had been Orion and slain, thou wouldst not 
wait a lover in the King of France.” 

“There is one thing that we, whom you so flatter, always 
fear you lack, Sire.” 

“And that is?” 

“Sincerity, Sire,” the Marchioness says coyly. 

“In this I am sincere. And, beautiful lady, I wish thy 
future as bright as this present, and that thou mayest 
never cease to shine,” he says gravely. And leading her 
to King Henry, he says, “Cousin, I cannot trust my heart 
any longer with thy most loving friend, for fear of moving 
thy jealousy, for the Marchioness of Pembroke is a most 
bewitching lady.” 

When the Marchioness retires to her apartments, she 
finds the King of France hath sent her some magnificent 
jewels, and King Henry takes leave of his illustrious guests 
with the feeling that all he wished for has been accom- 
plished. 

On our way home, at Canterbury, we are met by an im- 
mense crowd; the officials of the city, with the Dean and 
Chapter, and Bishop Fisher, coming out to meet his 
Majesty. 

In Canterbury there has been a curious reaction in favor 
of Queen Katherine. A peasant girl, named Elizabeth 
Barton, has for some time past been falling into a sort 
of convulsions, and been having visions. By reason of the 
holy words she utters when having them, she has come to 
be looked upon as one under the peculiar visitation of 
God. 

When Cardinal Wolsey was living, her case came to his 
notice; but as all her prophecies related to extatics on re- 
ligion, nothing was done with her. So true did some of 
her prophecies prove to be, that Archbishop Warham had 
her committed to the care of the sisters of St. Sepulchre’s, 


The Meeting of the Two Kings. 281 

Canterbury, where she became Sister Elizabeth, or the 
“Nun of Kent.” 

The King’s divorce and the Queen’s banishment, and the 
strained relations between the Holy Father and King 
Henry, the “Nun of Kent” has been intruding upon lately, 
and the odor of sanctity with which she is surrounded, has 
caused the populace to believe in her, and put faith in her 
prophecies as coming from God. 

The King is not overly pleased at his loyal people of 
Canterbury’s greeting to himself and the Marchioness. 
They shout, “Long live King Henry and Queen Kath- 
erine !” but they also shout, “Down with Wiltshire’s daugh- 
ter !” and “The King’s mistress, put her away and take back 
Queen Katherine!” 

His Majesty is enraged as he hears these expressions, 
and more so when he comes right into the city, for right 
in our path are a number of the Sisterhood of St. Sepul- 
chre’s, and one of them stands forth with an arm upraised, 
holding in her hand the holy crucifix. 

“What have we here, my lord?” the King says to the 
Bishop of Rochester. 

“It is the ‘Nun of Kent/ Sire.” 

“Ha ! I remember. Wolsey told me about her. But 
what does she want ?” 

“I know not, Sire, but the people almost worship her.” 

“That is foolishness. But why doesn’t she get out of our 
path?” the King says pettishly, as we ride right up to her, 
and either have to ride over her or stop, which we do, for 
seeing the Nun about to speak to the King, many drop 
upon their knees, and the crowd hems us in. 

“Woe! Woe! Woe! Woe to thee, King Henry!” she ex- 
claims, right in the face of the King. 

“Woe to thee. King Henry, for forsaking Queen Kath- 
erine! Woe to thee when thou marriest thy mistress 
there ! Woe to the Holy Father if he hinders thee not, and 
death to him from God if he consents to thy unclean 
wishes !” 

The King is black with anger, as he reins in his horse, 
and has to listen to these insults. “Out of the way, wo- 
man, stand to one side. I give not audience to the church 
here,” he roars at her. 


282 


By the King’s Command. 

“Woe to thee ! I say,” the Kun goes on unchecked. 
“Riding the country with thy mistress when our godly 
Queen lives ! Woe to thee ! and forsake thy ways !” 

“Order her from my path!” the King says fiercely to 
Bishop Fisher. 

“She would not move for me. Sire. And the populace 
would rise if any harm came to her,” the old bishop im- 
potently replies. 

“Then, by the great God, I will hold you responsible for 
this insult !” the King says, turning his horse round and 
riding through the immense train following him. 

As he passes the Mayor, he says : “I shall remember this 
insult, sir, and I tarry not here.” 

And so we ride to Chilham Abbey, and from thence on to 
Greenwich palace. 


The Marriage of King Henry VIII. 283 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE MARRIAGE OF KING HENRY VIII. OF ENGLAND AND 
QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN. 

More than a year has passed and many things have hap- 
pened since we were in France. It is now January, in the 
year of our Lord 1533, and I am on duty at his Majesty’s 
private audience room. 

Master Thomas Cromwell is closeted with his High- 
ness, and has been with him this long while. His Maj- 
esty uses him considerably, and Master Cromwell’s ad- 
vancement has been phenomenal, for his Majesty has 
already made him Chancellor of the Exchequer for life, 
and there is no telling where he will land, as he is the 
most skilful and cunning man the King has about him. 

We are getting to he very careful around him, for some- 
how he seems to know all the goings on of everybody, and 
there must be a good deal of deceit practised, or how could 
he know it all? 

But here is Percy, and I am glad. “What is the latest 
news? Has Dr. Cranmer returned from abroad?” 

“Hot that I know of, Thomas ; he has not come to Lam- 
beth yet.” 

“They tell me that they are accusing the Marchioness of 
being a Lutheran.” 

“They are Queen Katherine’s friends, Thomas ; they will 
do anything to keep the King stirred up,” Percy says. 

“They certainly are doing it, for I never knew his Maj- 
esty to be more mightily stirred than he is now, and Mas- 
ter Cromwell can do it. There is no limit to Cromwell’s 
influence with his Highness. Listen to them now !” 

All we have to do is not to talk ourselves, and we can 
perfectly hear what they are saying. 


284 


By the King’s Command. 

“Then you would advise ?” the King says. 

“Independence, Sire. It will come to that. You have 
waited long enough,” Master Cromwell replies. 

“It is true, I have waited a long time. It is now more 
than six years I have been seeking a divorce, and none 
seem brave enough to give it ; as all are obliging each other, 
and none will oblige me,” his Majesty says pettishly. 

“It is true. Sire. None of them care for thy comfort !” 

“I will be more independent from this on. But should 
I marry, the Holy Father will excommunicate me,” his 
Majesty says in a grumbling mood. 

“Methinks that will not hurt thee. Sire,” the daring man 
says. 

“But what will England say ?” the King says slowly. 

“Let England know that Cardinal Campeggio had the 
Pope’s decretal, signed and sealed for thy divorcement ; but 
it was withheld to please the Emperor, and all England will 
be at thy feet, Sire.” 

“And if factions arise ?” the King says, brightening. 

“Leave that to me, Sire. There are few places where I 
haven’t spies, and there’s little occurring that doesn’t reach 
mine ears, for I reward them well.” 

“Thou art diligent, and I remember it. I should love to 
wed the Marchioness, but she seems afraid of me lately.” 

Master Cromwell replies not to the King’s remarks, and 
so he says, “What think you ?” 

“I am no lover. Sire. But I believe in the King having 
his will.” 

“I am a little forceful with her perhaps, but great God, 
she is sweetly winsome, and as sharp of my attentions as 
can be. And she holds me to my promise of marriage as 
the price of, — but there, thou art a bachelor ! But I want 
to marry her, for she is a queen already, for purity never 
sat on higher throne than the Marchioness does. And I 
must have her ! I must !” 

“Have your will, Sire,” the statesman says decisively. 

“And brave them all?” 

“And brave them all, Sire,” he says positively. 

“And the divorce?” 

“Dr. Cranmer, your Archbishop, can arrange that, and 
is willing to do so, Sire.” 


The Marriage of King Henry VIII. 285 

And that is all we hear, for I am called. 

“Where is the Marchioness of Pembroke, Master 
Wyatt ?” the King says, as I enter. 

“"Visiting Mistress Saville, who is sick, Sire.” 

“There, yon see! She will go anywhere rather than 
come to me. Bnt I will go to her,” and the King rising, 
he leans on the shonlder of Master Cromwell, and we pass 
out into the great audience chamber. 

It is late in the evening, but the audience chamber is 
full. His Majesty stands and converses for a few min- 
utes in an abstracted way with Earl Surrey, and then, as 
if his thoughts are elsewhere, he turns to me and says : 

“Call Master Norris and follow me.” 

The courtiers make way for his Majesty to pass, and dis- 
missing them all, he turns and says, “Good night to you 
all,” with a slight inclination of his head, to which they 
all respond, bowing low. 

Passing through the doors that lead towards the lodg- 
ings of the Marchioness (for we are at Wolsey’s palace 
of York House), he says, “Lead the way to Mistress Sa- 
ville’s lodgings.” 

Passing to the west wing of the palace, we come to Mis- 
tress Saville’s quarters; and his Majesty knocks on the door, 
and the Marchioness answers it for her. 

Judge of their astonishment when they behold his Maj- 
esty and us two. His Highness takes the Marchioness’ 
two hands in his as he says, “So thou art playing door- 
keeper for Mistress Saville, instead of coming to see me ?” 

“Nay, Sire, but Mistress Saville is sick.” 

“I am sorry,” he says, going to Anne. “Perhaps a visit 
from me will hearten you, Mistress Anne.” 

“Your Highness is gracious, and I am sure it will. But 
I am sorry my lodging hath such poor accommodations, 
for I have no seat for your Highness.” 

“That matters not. This chest in this alcove will ac- 
commodate me and the Marchioness, for I would talk with 
her,” he says, leading her there, and sitting down he places 
his arm about her. 

“I expected thee this evening. Why didst thou not 
come ?” he says as if grieved. 


286 


By the King’s Command. 

“I thought this my loving duty, Sire, and would see thee 
in the morning.” 

“You are afraid of being with me alone?” he says, for he 
knows she has reason. 

“All the world talks of it, Sire. And this far I have 
preserved your Highness’ good name,” she says, as she 
looks up into his face. 

“Thou art a sweet guardian. Dost thou care for the 
world’s opinion, in preference to pleasing me?” 

“Nay, Sire ! But I cannot have the world add to its 
already hard report of thy friend.” 

“It shall be stopped forever, Anne. We will be mar- 
ried.” 

“When, Sire ?” she says, for he has so often said this. 

“This night, and here !” he says determinedly. 

“Oh, Sire, you frighten me !” she replies, as she sees 
something unusual in his face. 

“Do I, my darling? Then I never will again after to- 
night.” 

“I may not do anything so rash ! Think, Sire ! What 
effect would such a marriage be ?” 

“As much as any priestly marriage, Anne, for a priest 
shall marry us,” he says, doggedly. 

“I cannot, oh, I cannot, Sire! His Holiness would 
curse us. All England hate me. Thou art married, Sire, 
and not yet divorced. Some will say you have two wives, 
others that I am no true wife. And thou hast heard them 
call me foul names,” she quickly says, endeavoring to put 
the thought out of his head. 

“Thou art thinking of that crack-brained Nun, but 
Master Cromwell will attend to her. And listen! Dr. 
Cranmer hath written me that he will pronounce a di- 
vorce, for all the learned universities are with us. So we 
can be married as I say.” 

“Let us wait Dr. Cranmer’s return, Sire. Let him 
marry us !” 

“Nay. I always have given thee 1 thy way, and I am de- 
termined on mine to-night.” 

“Thou art impatient, and leave me no room to deny 
thee,” she urges. 

“Impatient, call you it, Anne? I have had six years 


The Marriage of King Henry VIII. 287 

and more of such patience that no other monarch would 
brook; and by the holy Jesu, I am at the end of all such 
dallyings,” he says, defeating her argument. 

“Still, Sire !” 

“We pass the night together as man and wife; I will, I 
cannot let this opportunity pass/ 5 he says, decidedly. 

“But, Sire ! Send for my father, let us counsel.” 

“Nay, Anne. I am at the end of counselling. We are 
to be wed.” 

“But, Sire, the divorce ! Think ! Where will my 
queenship and quality be? Make me not a reproach to 
womanhood ! I would rather die than yield to wrong. 
Wife and Queen I must be, or nothing, Sire ; and from this 
place I must go as rightful wife, and such the world can 
acknowledge, even though a priest perform the ceremony,” 
she answers him with the old strong spirit. 

“Don’t be wild, Anne! Clement granted a divorce. 
These hands held it, as they now hold thee. A divorce 
given, is a divorce. The Archbishop of Canterbury shall 
give such a decision in court. If Clement denies it, it is 
perjury; and he would only do it to please the Emperor 
Charles. And the devil ! 1 am no child to be led by the 

whims of the Emperor ! And England will not brook it !” 
he says, holding her face between his hands, looking into 
her eyes. 

“Oh, Sire ! Still ” she tries to plead, but he breaks 

in with: 

“To-morrow thy brother George shall go to France and 
acquaint King Francis with the news. Thy coronation 
shall be later. But united as man and wife we will be 
now, and then I shall know I have thee.” 

“But, Sire!” 

“Stay me not ! Thou art not fond of my kisses ! Thy 
love for me is not as I love thee, Anne, or thou wouldst not 
hinder me. Ho, there ! Master Wyatt !” 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“Get me one of our chaplains, and bring him here !” 

“Which one, Sire?” 

“Dr. Lee will do.” 

“Yes, Sire,” and I depart on my errand in a perfect 
maze of bewilderment. It seems to me such madness! 


288 


By the King’s Command. 

Such a m&d way of getting married ! Of becoming Queen 
by stealth. We are used to the King^s passionate love, to 
his wilful ways ; but marrying in such a manner ! I can- 
not but think of Percy and their running away together, 
and wish they had succeeded ; and I feel I ought to do some- 
thing to prevent this, but what can I do? 

“His Majesty wishes you to accompany me to his pres- 
ence / 5 I say as I find Dr. Lee. 

“What wants his Highness with me at this hour, Mas- 
ter Wyatt ? 55 

“He will inform you himself, sir, so I was to tell you . 55 

We find the King walking up and down the room with 
the Marchioness upon his arm, in deep agitation, and Mas- 
ter Norris has had candles brought, and the chest in the 
alcove has been lighted up to answer the purpose of a very 
crude altar. 

“Not to-night, Sire! Not this way! Please wait, and 
let it be different . 55 

“Nay, sweet Anne, I will have my way in this , 55 we hear 
them saying, as we come in. 

“Ah ! Hast thou thine office book with thee, Mr. Chap- 
lain ? I have a particular service for thee to perform , 55 the 
King says, as we enter. 

cr What service may I render your Majesty ? 55 the doctor 
says. 

“That of marrying me to the Marchioness of Pembroke. 
So hurry thee and get thy vestments and book and come 
back quickly, for I am anxious to have it over with , 55 he 
says. 

“Pardon me, your Highness, but I had not learned that 
the Holy Father had given you dispensation for this , 55 Dr. 
Lee says, amazed. 

“Master Doctor, I have not sent for thee to examine me. 
The Holy Father’s decree of divorce these hands have 
held, and that is enough for thee, and I COMMAND thee 
to thy duty / 5 the King says, trying to silence him. 

“Is the Marchioness of Pembroke willing, Sire ? 55 the doc- 
tor says. 

“Yes, Mr. Chaplain, and no more questioning, and hurry 
thee and perform this holy sacrament. But open not thy 


The Marriage of King Henry VIII. 289 

lips to any on peril of thy life. And this I say to 
all of ye !” the King says, as the doctor hurries away. 

“Is it not to be known. Sire? If not, it will be to my 
shame !” the Marchioness says, agitatedly. 

“I will tell it myself, sweet Anne. And be not afraid ! 
Have I not waited for thee long? Was ever lover more 
constant ? To-night give me all thy love, all, for thou wilt 
be mine forever,” the King says, passionately. 

“I do give thee all I am able. Sire. I know no other 
love than thine. But this is such a strange way,” she says, 
almost despairingly. 

“It is the way of true love, Anne, and I have been 
a fool to wait for thee so long,” he says in his wilful deter- 
mination. 

Dr. Lee returning, he goes to his Majesty and says : 

“Sire, I am about to obey your commands. But Eng- 
land and the world are to know the results of my act, and I 
beg of you, Sire, before these witnesses, not to hold me 
responsible for my obedience to my King.” 

“Very well. Come you here, Master Wyatt, and you, 
Master Norris, and you, Mistress Saville, and not only be 
witnesses for our chaplain, but also witness our marriage to 
my dear love,” he says resourcefully. 

Kneeling with his Majesty and the dear Marchioness, 
we bear witness, and I note not any of the service, for I am 
thinking that this darling of my heart is being sacrificed to 
the King, who, though he makes her Queen of England, 
could never make her as happy as I, for I would devote 
every minute of my life to bless her. 

But his Majesty is kissing the Queen, yes, the QUEEN 
OF ENGLAND; and we two men are two fools and aw- 
fully slow, for evidently Norris is stupefied with the 
events that are occurring, for we both forget our duty and 
privilege, until Mistress Saville reminds us, for she says, 
“I beg to congratulate your Highnesses and swear fealty to 
my dear QUEEN and kind mistress to my very life’s 
blood,” and she kisses the hand of the King, and of the 
Queen, and her Majesty reaches forward and embraces her 
as she says, “Thank you, dear Anne, thou art the first to 
call me Queen, and I should reward thee.” 

“Kneel down, Mistress Anne,” the King says quickly. 


290 


By the King’s Command. 

Anne does so, and then he says: “Thou dost lead these 
tardy men and her Majesty shall give thee a reward. 
And so, in her Majesty’s name, rise, my Lady Berkeley,” 
and giving her his hand, the King raises her up. 

Norris and I follow with ours, and her Majesty re- 
ceives our homage and fealty with loving looks, and I am 
sure is disappointed in his Majesty not doing anything for 
us, but there I care not, for somehow I am sick and sore 
at heart. 

Before leaving the room, his Majesty says: “Absolute 
secrecy, remember, from all of you, even from her Majesty; 
I myself will tell it,” and they pass out. 

For a few days the King doesn’t tell anyone, and there 
never was such a scandal at court. All the factions rake 
her Majesty’s character in a shameful way. Even her 
Majesty’s friends cannot understand, and talk against the 
conduct of the Marchioness, or the QUEEN, I should say. 

Percy looks like a man distraught, and I know would 
upbraid her on opportunity, hut fortunately he gets no 
chance. I tell him to be calm, and have charity, hut he 
just sobbed, and says he would rather be dead. 

The Viscountess Rochford is the worst. I believe she is 
possessed by Satan himself. How her Majesty can stand 
it I know not, but she is calm in the vindication of holy 
right, hut to me it would be maddening. 

Her Majesty comes in usually ahead of the King, about 
as she always did ; and when his Majesty comes in later, he 
acts only a little more affectionate than usual, and I sup- 
pose he is calculating in his cool way of what to do about it. 
But when he is there they treat the Queen all right, but it 
is when he is not, that the scandal mongers get their venom 
at work. 

This particular morning the Viscountess Rochford is 
angry at her husband, who is assisting her Majesty with 
some tapestry thread, and hovering about her in his affec- 
tionate brotherly way. 

The Lady Rochford notices it, and in order to get him 
away she sends the Queen’s equerry, Master Zouch, to tell 
him that she wants him. 

Zouch delivers the message, and brings back word that 
he is busy, and will his wife please come to him. 


The Marriage of King Henry VII L 291 

This makes her unreasonably furious, and she walks 
over to them, and with that venom that an acrimonious 
nature can assume on occasion, and blind to the fact of 
his Majesty entering, she blurts out: “I care not who 
hears me, sir, but I care not to come to one whom a chaste 
wife should scorn to associate with.” 

The Queen turns flaming red under this hard rebuke, 
and drops her eyes as all look at her ; and I know not what 
she would say, for she lacks not courage. But his Maj- 
esty roars out with: “Ha — What — Woman! — Darest talk 
to her Majesty so ? You evil tongued fury ! — On thy knees 
to her Majesty, you violent tongued shrew !” And placing 
his arm about the Queen, he says : “I am to blame for the 
stings of these serpents about you, sweet Anne, and I beg 
thy pardon !” And then turning to all in the room, he 
says: “THIS IS THE QUEEN OF ENGLAND, AND 
YOUR LAWFUL MISTRESS, hear ye one and all.” 

I am sure there never was greater consternation in the 
world on a given occasion than now, and many of her 
Majesty’s friends weep for joy, and I confess I do with 
them, and Percy does too; and I never saw such a look of 
thankfulness come into a man’s face, as comes into his. 

They make a line and go forward to do homage to her 
Majesty, and it certainly is the Queen’s triumph; for the 
weight of so dreadful a secret being lifted off her, she looks 
as beautiful and pure and truly queenly as any could, and 
only has loving words for all, even to those she knows are 
her avowed enemies. 

As the Viscount, her dear brother, is in such trouble 
because of his wife, as they kneel before her, the Queen 
turns to the King, and says: 

“Please me. Sire, with one little favor?” 

“Very well, dear Anne.” 

“Then thou art pardoned, Lady Rochford,” she says, 
sweetly kissing her, while the Viscount’s manly tears fall 
down his face. 

I come with Percy and follow him in doing homage, and 
as he says, “I swear fealty to my sovereign Queen and mis- 
tress till death,” she looks with joy upon him, and also 
upon me, but I am bewildered, and wonder what there is to 
follow these distracting things. 


292 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTEE XXXV. 

queen Katherine’s divorce and public opinion 

THEREON. 

Many things have happened since their Majesties’ mar- 
riage. The Viscount Rochford has been sent to inform 
their Majesties of France, and King Francis has sent his 
congratulations with a handsome present to King Henry 
and Queen Anne. 

Dr. Cranmer is home again, and has gone to pronounce a 
decree of divorce in favor of the King at Dunstable. 

Sir Thomas More has taken the King’s marriage hardly, 
and has not yet done homage to the Queen. He absents 
himself from court, and has resigned the Chancellorship, 
much to the disgust of the King. The Duke of Norfolk 
thought he would get it, but his Majesty has given it to Sir 
Thomas Audeley instead. They say Sir Thomas More 
is in constant communication with Queen Katherine, and he 
had better watch out, for Master Cromwell is handling the 
spy business very thoroughly, and we all are beginning to 
fear him, with his ever increasing influence. 

There is nothing talked of now hut her Majesty’s cor- 
onation, and I am now on my way from Bridewell Palace 
to Master Clackton’s, the court tailor, to see about some 
of his Majesty’s clothes, as well as some of my own. 

Master Clackton not only makes new clothes, but repairs 
and renews old ones, and that is why I am interested, as 
mine have to be often repaired, for golden nobles don’t flow 
our way any too often, and his Majesty has not been very 
liberal with us lately. 

His shop is close to my Lady Gresham’s millinery shop 
in Cheapside, and as he is a gossipy little man, many of the 


293 


Queen Katherine’s Divorce. 

other shopkeepers are found with him ; as in his conceit he 
professes to know a deal of court news, from the constant 
coming and going of some of us from the court. 

I find his shop full this May evening. Master Knead, 
the baker opposite, is there; and so is Master Hepburn, 
an innkeeper, who lives just on the corner of the street, 
and a number of others. They are in full swing discussing 
the happenings of the time, while Master Clackton and 
some half dozen apprentices sit cross-legged working away 
as fast as they can. Mistress Clackton is a spry little 
woman, and a very bigot in religion, who with her daugh- 
ter does special stitching on puffs and slashings. 

“Good evening, Master Wyatt. I am not going to disap- 
point you, though I am working hard on these trunks 
for Master Cromwell. But I dare not disappoint him, 
for do you know we are all getting a little afraid of him,” 
the little man rattles on as I come into the shop. 

“Good day to you all,” I say. “You will disappoint me 
if you have not my work done soon, for I must have them. 
If you fail me, Master Clackton, I shall advise against 
work being brought to you, and you know what that would 
mean.” 

“I have never failed you yet, Master Wyatt, and thy 
influence against me would ruin me. But we have two or 
three weeks yet to her Majesty’s coronation?” he says, quiz- 
zing me. 

“I don’t know about that, Master Clackton, but I do 
know that I must have my clothes, or I shall not be ready,” 
I say, very positively. 

“I will not fail you. But Master Wyatt, we were talking 
about the new Queen when you came in. Is it true that 
her Majesty is a Lutheran?” Master Clackton enquires. 

It is strange these rumors go abroad about Queen Anne, 
and I feel sure they are being used against her by Queen 
Katherine’s party, and so I indignantly say “No !” 

“There are many that favor that false monk, Martin 
Luther, and here is one of them that does it secretly,” 
Dame Clackton says, pointing to one of their apprentices, 
Andrew Hewitt by name. “Do you know I found a copy 
of those wicked heretic gospels tucked away in the corner 
of the eaves of the house up where he lodges, and I got 


294 


By the King’s Command. 

the tongs and pnt it in the tire, for I would be afraid to 
touch the evil thing, and they do say the new Queen reads 
the heretic work,” she says, running on with her tongue. 

“Hush, dame ! You are telling on a good apprentice of 
ours, and a better young man is not to be had,” the tailor 
says, trying to stop his wife. 

“I know that, Clackton. But an Cardinal Wolsey were 
living and knew it, he would be severely punished, for are 
not our confessors and preachers good enough to explain 
the gospels to us without our unlearned conceit, nosing into 
churchlv matters too high for us ?” the dame says, sharply. 

The apprentice referred to, I notice, resents not what the 
dame says, for no doubt he is used to her sharp tongue, 
but goes on with his work quietly, when Mistress Knead 
says, “There is good sense in that, and learning belongs 
to the monks and gentles. But how does Queen Katherine 
take this new marriage? Queer for King Hal to have two 
wives !” 

“Well, this one is a real beauty, there’s no mistake about 
that,” says Master Hepburn. “I never saw woman more 
comely. When she rode through the city the other day 
everybody said so, even though some hissed and few cried, 
‘God save the Queen.’ ” 

“Yes, but those great eyes of hers and her peachy cheeks 
and winsomeness have turned King Hal traitor to Queen 
Katherine, and I like her not !” says Mistress Clackton, 
indignantly. “Think if other men should follow the King’s 
lead and simper at pretty faces, when their wives are not 
as young as when they married them. I should like to see 
Clackton doing such work, and I tell you I should not 
take it as easy as our good Queen Katherine.” 

“Hush, dame ! Thou really art not discreet ! It will be 
time for thee to rate and rant when thou seest me riding 
off with a wench which I have no mind to do just now,” the 
little tailor says, trying to stop her. 

“If I were you, good people, I wouldn’t be talking about 
Queen Anne that way. She is Queen of England, because 
she had to be and couldn’t help herself; and if there is 
any blame, it is where it is treasonous to speak about it, 
for trouble will come to those who talk too freely about 
the King’s highness,” I say, severely. 


295 


Queen Katherine’s Divorce. 

“That is well, Master Wyatt,” Master Hepburn says. 
“But we like to speak out our minds. I felt last year, 
when that comet was blazing in the sky, in October last, 
that trouble was meant for England, and the preaching 
fathers said so, too. And see what has come to us already, 
the monasteries and monks are being harried, the Church’s 
wealth taken; some of our good bishops are being perse- 
cuted, and England is waiting for the Holy Father’s curse !” 

“Yes,” and Mistress Knead is in deep earnest as she says 
it. “They say the holy nun of Kent is to be arrested, when 
the Blessed Mother of God has written her letters in golden 
writing, and hundreds have seen them and miracles have 
been performed by her, and I only wish I could see her 
for my rheumatism,” she says, and then all their tongues 
wag for a while. 

“They say that Sir Thomas More and King Hal are at 
outs, when they used to be such close friends. And they 
say he has only resigned the Chancellorship and the Great 
Seal because he favors Queen Katherine,” Master Knead 
says. 

“Oh, there are many that favor the good Queen. Her 
Grace of Norfolk does secretly, and so does the Duke, only 
he will not openly show it. It is well known his Grace 
of Shrewsbury does and Sir William Kingston and many 
of the great northern nobles,” says Master Clackton. 

“How know you all these things?” I say. 

“Not from thy telling, Master Wyatt, for thou art very 
discreet; but this is common talk in the city, and even 
the preaching fathers give some pretty plain talks about 
it on mass day,” Master Hepburn says. 

Dame Meadon, a brewer’s wife, comes pushing in and 
goes to Mistress Clackton, as she says, “Yes, and we are 
not at the end of it all, for the new Archbishop has gone 
to Dunstable to try the poor Queen again and give King Hal 
his divorce,” and there is a murmur of discontent among 
them as she says it. 

“I like not the new Archbishop. The idea of his being 
married, first to that ‘Black Joan,’ that innkeeper’s wench, 
and now to the heretic’s niece. How the Holy Father 
could confirm his appointment as Archbishop I cannot 
think,” says dame Clackton. 


296 


By the King’s Command. 

“He does it to favor King Hal,” Master Hepburn says. 

“He should punish him instead,” retorts dame Clackton. 

“Hush, dame ! You talk too much. You may he spied 
on, and thy tongue is too glib,” the little tailor says, sharply. 

“Thou art aching to talk thyself,” retorts the dame, 
nettled. “And what I say is only what I heard and what 
we all know.” 

Everybody laughs at the little tailor, for when his wife 
is not present his tongue can flow eloquently. 

“It is a pity such distractions should come from marry- 
ing one dainty English maid. He need not have married 
her, but made her another Mistress Blount, whose boy is 
my lord, the young Duke of Richmond, and who begins to 
look like his kingly father,” Master Hepburn says. 

“Mistress Boleyn was too shrewd for that,” Master 
Knead replies. 

I cannot but think that current gossip is hitting the 
truth pretty closely, and I leave the gossips enjoying their 
interpretation of the happenings of these times and stroll 
back to Bridewell. 

Dr. Cranmer arrives next day from Dunstable, and has 
audience with the King. Master Cromwell is with him, 
and his Majesty signs to him to stay, as he says, “Well, 
how did Prince Arthurs widow take it?” 

“She was not present, Sire, and utterly refused to ap- 
pear ” Dr. Cranmer replies. 

“Did she give a reason?” 

“The Lady Katherine, Sire, told Dr. Lee that, inasmuch 
as her cause was before the Pope, she would acknowledge 
no other judge.” 

“Well?” 

“Then Bishop Lee told her that it was by your High- 
ness* express commands. To all of which she replied she 
would not have me for her judge. Her case was in the 
hands of the Holy Father and beyond her control.” 

“How did Dr. Lee address her ?” 

“As the Dowager Princess of Wales. But the Princess 
corrected him, and insisted on being addressed as Queen.” 

“How looked she ?” the King enquires. 

“Resigned and well, Sire. She lives quietly among the 
people who reverence her; she is so kind to them.” 


297 


Queen Katherine’s Divorce. 

“How did her servants address her?” 

“The Princess insists that they call her Queen, and 
they speak to her as such.” 

“Thou hast done well, my lord. And now thou wilt pre- 
pare for our Queen’s coronation. But who waits to see me. 
Master Wyatt?” 

“Sir Thomas Gresham, Sire, with an urgent matter,” I 
say. 

“Admit him. And tarry you, my lords,” he says to the 
Archbishop and Master Cromwell. 

As Sir Thomas Gresham enters, bowing low to the King, 
he meets him with: 

“What news of our city, my lord? Has trouble broken 
out among our subjects?” 

“No, your Majesty. But one of the prebendaries of St. 
Paul’s found this nailed to the door of the Cathedral, and 
my Lord Bishop of London, Dr. Stokesly, bade him bring 
it to me. I find that other copies have been nailed to the 
doors of some of the other city churches, and I have brought 
this to your Highness,” he says, handing the King a docu- 
ment. 

The King takes the document and reads it, then turns 
red with anger. It is a document denouncing the King’s 
marriage to Queen Anne. Also denouncing the coming 
coronation and threatening both King and Pope with evil 
prophecies of death if it occurs. 

Handing it to Master Cromwell, he says, “What think 
you of this?” 

“That is easily explained, Sire. The monks that nailed 
those to the church doors are the visiting Augustinian 
friars of Canterbury who are in London. And the Nun 
of Kent is at the bottom of it all.” 

“Bishop Fisher is at the bottom of it all,” the King says, 
angrily. 

“Perhaps so, Sire. But the Nun of Kent, who is the 
dupe of those fanatical monks, I should say is the tool they 
are using to annoy your Highness.” 

“I think Bishop Fisher, too, or he would stop such work. 
There are too many disaffected around me. Sir Thomas 
More comes not to court, and I will test his loyalty, for he 
has never given his homage to Queen Anne. You shall 


298 


By the King’s Command. 

forward him a purse of golden nobles from me, as he says 
he is poor, and they will purchase him clothes for the coro- 
nation if he cares to come to it,” the King says. 

“I expected these notices, Sire. More of them are to 
follow to-night,” Cromwell says. 

“Then why not have hindered them, Master Secretary?” 

“Because I was not quite sure of the time, and now I can 
take them red-handed in their work, Sire,” he says, con- 
fidently. 

“Dost know more about these matters?” 

“Yes, Sire. There is a plot to have the Hun of Kent 
preach a holy crusade against your Majesties, like the maid 
Joan of Arc did a while ago in France, and they are sanc- 
tioning it at Borne.” 

“They will stop at nothing. But go on, for I see thou 
knowest more,” the King says, eagerly. 

“This is the beginning of the matter, Sire. She now 
awaits the Holy Father’s written permission to go forth 
and preach against your Highnesses. I have my finger on 
the monk who is writing her heavenly letters for her, that 
she says come from the Magdalene. And some of your 
Majesty’s courtiers are in communication with her,” Master 
Cromwell says, confidently. 

“Who? Who are they?” the King says, eagerly. 

“I only say in ‘communication’ with her, Sire, for that 
is as near treason as they have gone.” 

“Who, I say? Have done with wordings and tell me,” 
the King says, angrily. 

“Bishop Fisher, Sire. Sir Thomas More. And — I dis- 
like to pain your Majesty.” 

“Out with it, man !” roars the King. 

“The Dowager Princess of Wales, Sire ! I have their let- 
ters ! I suspect others, but am not at present certain about 
them,” Cromwell says, confidently. 

“The devil ! I suspected treason around me ! Where 
are the letters?” the King says. 

“Here, Sire,” and Master Cromwell hands the King a 
package to the astonishment of us all. 

Glancing through them quickly, the King says, “Some- 
what incriminating, but very guarded. Intensely loyal to 
his Holiness and not very loyal to me, which is not flatter- 


Queen Katherine’s Divorce. 299 

in g. What shall we do ? Shall we have the lot arrested ?” 

“I would advise not. Sire. If they are traitors to your 
Highnesses we should know more. But with your permis- 
sion, Sire, I would have Archbishop Cranmer have the 
Mother Superior of the Huns of St. Sepulchre’s confine 
the Hun of Kent strictly to the convent until she shall he 
brought to appear before him for examination. And have 
the closest secrecy kept of all these matters.” 

“I will, Master Secretary. And you, Dr. Cranmer, do 
our bidding about the Hun of Kent. And see here, Master 
Wyatt,” and his Highness plucks his bonnet from his head. 
“Do you know what I would do with that if I thought it 
would tell my secrets?” 

“Ho, Sire/’ 

“I would treat it this way,” he says, taking a knife and 
cutting it to pieces and casting the pieces on the coals of 
the fire in the room. And we can see how bitter he is 
growing in having his revenge. 

The Lord Mayor looks at his Majesty in amazement, and 
perhaps the King did it to teach him a lesson, for he says, 
“And you, my Lord Mayor, will repair to our palace at 
Greenwich on the Friday before Whit Sunday to conduct 
the Queen to our royal palace at the Tower of London. 
And on Saturday you will conduct the Queen on her royal 
progress from the Tower through our City of London to 
York House. And we will see the loyalty of you all to 
your Queen, for by the great God this treason shall be 
stopped, or woe be to those who practice same !” 


300 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

ON THE EVE OF ATTAINMENT. 

His Majesty is using the Queen’s coronation as a test of 
loyalty to himself, for many are summoned from far and 
near to be present. And it is a very good test, as the King 
can feel the pulse of England as to how far he can go with 
the Holy Father and the Emperor. 

All the palaces and noble houses are filling up for the 
event, and London is to be gay as the Queen commences her 
royal progress to-day. 

His Majesty has already gone to the Tower, and my Lord 
Mayor comes this afternoon for her Majesty to escort her 
to the Tower. 

Percy and I are to accompany her Majesty, and the King 
has deferred to her wishes in having her surrounded with 
the younger element of the court. 

As there is little for us to do this morning, we are out 
good and early, strolling in the palace gardens and really 
idling the time away and doing just as inclination leads us. 

“Stop scribbling, Thomas, and let us walk,” Percy says. 

“All right,” and we stroll off, as we see the Queen and a 
number of her ladies and young gallants emerging from 
the palace. 

“Who would think that she would ever soar as high as 
she has done? It seems not long ago when we were at 
Hampton Court and riding after the Cardinal and hunt- 
ing and hawking to our heart’s content. And to-day she 
begins her journey to be crowned, Thomas!” Percy says 
thoughtfully. 

“I am afraid our hearts are sore together. Truly she is 
a wonder. She carries us all along, and the time slips 
away. I am not reconciled to her Queenship yet, and never 


On the Eve of Attainment, 


301 


truly shall be, and she is so good to us and will not let her 
exalted rank keep us from her heart, and I am glad,” I 
reply, truly. 

“She is my ideal of women, thou knowest ! King Henry 
knows not the jewel he has ! But while she is so delight- 
ful to us, did you see how she snubbed my Lady Exeter 
yesterday?” Percy asks, in admiration of the Queen. 

“No. What did she do?” 

“Well, my Lady Exeter saw her for the first time yes- 
terday since she has become Queen and came to do homage. 
But instead of kneeling, she just bowed forward, mumbling 
something unintelligible to the Queen, and only pretending 
to kiss her hand. Her Majesty, I believe, intended to pass 
it by, when she saw her ladyship boasting to some of her old 
cronies, and her quick ear detected her saying ‘the gentle- 
woman Queen/ Then the Queen walked over to the group, 
and, singling out the Marchioness of Exeter, she says: 
‘Your Grace hath been absent from court some time and 
hath forgotten the usages due the Queen of England. Her 
Grace of Dorset will instruct you how to do homage, for I 
would rather not think that an affront was meant to his 
Highness and myself not long since/ ” 

“And what did Lady Exeter do, Percy?” 

“Knelt and apologized and did homage properly.” 

“My ! That will rankle in her heart ! She is an avowed 
friend of Queen Katherine,” I say, for I dislike any to 
be her enemy. 

“There are more of them that are disaffected. I actually 
believe the Duchess of Norfolk has had Mistress Cosyns 
made a waiting woman to her Majesty to spy upon her,” 
Percy says. 

“I never liked Mistress Cosyns, she looks deceitful ; and 
I wish she had stayed with her Grace. But what would the 
Queen’s aunt, her Grace of Norfolk, want to spy on her 
for?” for I cannot quite see through it. 

“Why, Thomas ! Do you think her Grace likes to see her 
once humble niece ahead of her in dignity and titles ? She 
did homage as if she had the backache, and I’m afraid it 
was her heart. The Duke would tramp on the dead to raise 
him higher, and I am afraid her Grace is not far behind 
him.” 


302 


By the King’s Command. 

“She has a hard future before her, Percy/* I say, as we 
come up to her Majesty and her suite. 

“Good morning, gentlemen ! You deserted our audience 
room. That is not a sign of gallantry. But perhaps you 
have weightier matters than our attendance, as I see 
Master Wyatt holding his tablets/* her Majesty greets 
us with. 

I am not eager for her Majesty to see what I have writ- 
ten. For on coming into the garden I found two rosebuds 
more precocious than the rest, it being so early in the sea- 
son, and only the end of May. Thinking of old times in 
connection with her Majesty, when she was a girl and loved 
me, I wrote the verses with the thought of her in my heart. 
For I find, that, however sore and deserted the heart may 
feel, it clings to its old love and plays and dallies with its 
darling, even when it is treasonous io do so. And Percy 
loves her in his silent way, and I do, for memories won’t 
smother and love won’t die. Love is love, and nothing but 
love ; and if you have once given your soul away, you have 
parted with it ; it belongs to the receiver, though that one 
may cease to value the gift. 

“Since he deserted us, your Majesty, he is treasonous, 
and perhaps his verses are too lofty for our poor compre- 
hension?** Lady Berkeley says. 

“Thou art severe., Lady Anne. Her Majesty may judge 
herself, hut my only fear is that they do not justice to those 
for whom they were written/* I reply. 

“Then I am indeed interested, Master Wyatt/* her 
Majesty says, gayly. “What can be the dainty subject? 
Perhaps thou hast favored us with a thought of our coro- 
nation ?** 

“Alas ! Your Highness ! My thoughts should have been 
as loyal, but I confess I was living in the long ago, and I 
wrote about these/* and I hand to her Majesty the two little 
rosebuds I had plucked. Then I read: 

Speak to me out of thy soul , 

Symbol and emblem of Love; 

Tell me of Love's mystic charm 
Stored in thy soul, from above. 


On the Eve of Attainment. 


303 


Velvety flesh , 

Fragrance compressed ; 

Daintily dight. 

Lover s delight. 

Queen of the gardens , pure buds. 

Essence of sweetness so rare. 

Pour out my soul now to her. 

Out of thy soul, to “My Fair 
Peerless , divine. 

Soulful , benign; 

Love ne'er forgets! 

Love lives and waits! 

“I shall keep the rosebuds, Master Wyatt, and I shall not 
ask for whom the verses were intended, for fear I might 
lead yon to a wrong confession !” her Majesty says, kindb 
and she places the buds in her bosom and elects to walk with 
Lord Percy and the young Duke of Richmond, while Lady 
Anne walks with me, to my annoyance. 

“I like your verses, Master Wyatt, but it is useless asking 
you for a copy, for I never get anything from your tablets,” 
she says, meaning me to give them to her. 

“They are too treasonous, Lady Anne ! You would not 
value such verses from a traitor?” I say, laughing. 

“Did I say that ? I deserve not to have them !” she says, 
tenderly ; too tenderly for my liking. 

“I am glad to walk with you, Lady Anne, for I wanted to 
ask your opinion about somebody,” I say, leading her away 
from the subject. 

“Thank you, sir, for your favors,” she says, curtly, see- 
ing my object, for the Lady Anne is sharp. “And who is 
that one, pray ?” 

“Mistress Cosyns.” 

“Oh, none of us like her very well ; except it be the Lady 
Rochford. But why do you ask?” 

“Because her Majesty needeth tried friends around her, 
and I am afraid she is getting some enemies.” 

“What matters it, if she is Queen ? She can defy them all, 
Master Wyatt.” 

“You do not seem to understand. Don't you think that 


304 By the King’s Command. 

if one royal lady can be turned from the throne of England 
another can? Do you think his Majesty will grow less 
scrupulous?” I say, rather unguardedly I must admit. 

“Well. Thou art daft, surely, and borrowing strange 
fears. Here is her Majesty uncrowned yet, and you are 
talking of her being dethroned! What ails thee. Master 
Wyatt?” she says, twitting me. 

“Her Majesty is our Queen, Lady Anne, and we would 
keep her so beyond the treason of all her enemies, and we 
should guard her to that end.” 

“Thank you for your lecture. One would think I did not 
love her Highness to hear you talk. Be sure that I shall 
be on my guard,” she says, banteringly. “And perhaps 
when I can assure you of my fidelity to her Grace you will 
write me some verses?” she says, provokingly. 

“When you cease to treat the matter lightly, Lady Anne, 
and take to heart what I have said, I will,” I reply. 

“And then may I name the subject for the verses?” she 
says, mischievously. 

“Yes, you may.” 

“Then you shall write love verses about — yourself !” she 
says, as we enter the palace, and I feel provoked at her. 
But there, she always did provoke me ! 

At about three of the clock, the Queen, attired in cloth 
of gold, with a coronet of priceless rubies on her head, her 
hair falling in wavy masses over her shoulders, her long 
train carried by pages of honor, descends the great stairs of 
the palace, leaning on the arm of her father. She is fol- 
lowed by all the great nobles and ladies of the court, the 
great ambassadors with their retinues, a mighty company, 
in all their rich array. 

At the foot of the river “stairs” there is a glorious sight. 
More than fifty great barges belonging to the citizens and 
the great city guilds accompany the Lord Mayor’s state 
barge, which have come to convey the Queen to the royal 
Tower. Hundreds of smaller craft filled with sightseers 
dressed in their holidav attire dart hither and thither to 
get a favorable view of the royal embarkation. 

At the foot of the “stairs” is the Queen’s royal barge, 
decorated with flags edged with silver bells that musically 
chime as they are waved in the breeze. At its prow is a 


On the Eve of Attainment. 


305 


huge dragon that at intervals roars and vomits forth fire, 
and standing guard over it is the mighty St. George of 
Merrie England, while by his side is Neptune, the king of 
the waters, with mermen and mermaidens in attendance. 

Eight near the royal barge is another, conspicuous for its 
decoration ; its prow being embowered in red and white roses 
and the whole barge trimmed with the same. On the sum- 
mit of the bower is a snowy white falcon holding a sceptre 
in one foot, and in its beak the Boleyn motto, “Me and 
Mine.” A score or more of young ladies beautifully 
dressed, half of them in red and half of them in white, 
like the roses, raise their voices and sing as her Majesty 
comes to the landing: 

Queen of Albion's favored land. 

We have come to greet you ; 

Daughter of Britannia's Isle, 

Raised to royal splendor . 

Buie with love. 

From above; 

Captivate all hearts with thine. 

Be thy dower 
Love's great power. 

Evermore . 

May thy reign be glorious. 

With heaven's light surrounded; 

May dark enmity, and ill. 

Fleeing, be confounded. 

Reign with right. 

In the might 

Of heaven's blessed sceptre; 

And we'll pray. 

Ever, aye, 

God protect you. 

“This almost moves me to tears. It heartens me to my 
future. I will seek to requite such loyalty,” the Queen says 
to her father, deeply moved. 

Coming to the landing, my Lord Mayor, in his state robes, 
and gold collar of office, accompanied by all the civic dig- 


306 


By the King’s Command. 

nities of London, in their scarlet and purple robes and 
collars of office and knighthood orders, meet her Majesty 
and kneel and do homage, and then conduct her to her 
barge. 

“Thank you, my Lord Mayor, and you, loyal citizens of 
his Majesty’s great City of London, for this grand civic 
greeting. I am sure his Majesty and myself will lovingly 
remember this token of your devotion to us,” the Queen 
says, graciously, as she passes to her seat in the royal barge 
amid salvos of artillery and roaring of the great dragon 
belching forth tire and flames. 

Amid shouts and music and songs and hurry and bustle 
the Queen embarks, the Lord Mayor’s barge leading, the 
royal barge of the Queen following and then the long pro- 
cession, followed by all the smaller craft, and upon the 
returning tide we are brought to the Tower. 

As we land at the Tower I get an opportunity to see my 
Lady Berkeley again. Before we embarked at Greenwich 
I saw her beckon me, but pretended not to see her, for to be 
true about it, as time passes, I find I like her no better than 
years ago, and it has become a habit for me to avoid her 
all I can. 

But here she is, and she says, “Why did you not come 
to me when I made a sign to you at Greenwich?” 

“Did you sign for me to come to you ? I saw you, Lady 
Anne,” when she stops me impatiently and says, “Please 
don’t tell lies about it, Master Wyatt. You didn’t want to 
see me, however flattering it is for me to tell you so. But 
I wanted to see you, since you have made yourself the 
Queen’s own guardian,” and she places in my hand a note. 

“What is this ? From whom is this ?” I say, taken aback 
at her snubbing me so cruelly. 

“I don’t know. I found it, that is all,” she says. “Un- 
less you can begin those verses, and you can make the 
subject ‘The Ungallant,’ ” she says, as she abruptly leaves 
me. 

I wonder what the note can be, and all sorts of fancies 
seize me, for I have not opportunity now to read it, as I 
have to accompany her Majesty into the palace and take 
charge of her audience room entry. 

Here I get a chance to read it. 


On the Eve of Attainment. 


307 


“To-night at midnight, you will be safe to come. I will 
let you in to her. To-morrow all will rejoice ‘Castile* is 
the word. C.** 

A perfect horror seizes me as I read this, and, seeing the 
King’s fool passing, I call, “Here, Will Somers ! Have you 
seen Lord Percy?** 

“Yes, Mr. Latchstring. And he is a sorrowful specimen 
of humanity. If he still looks as when I saw him none 
need go to Dr. Butts for boluses.** 

“Where is he, good Will? I want to see him, an you 
bring him to me, I will reward thee,** I say, seeing he is 
in a crotchety humor. 

“Too far to carry him, though I could an I tried. I 
saw him last at Greenwich, but I shall have to mend my 
pack to put him in, and I will go and do it,** the little 
devil’s imp says, as he provokingly walks away. 

“Here, Master Zouch !** I say, calling him as he passes. 
“J*ind Lord Percy and send him to me. It is the Queen*s 
business,** I say, drawing on my conscience so that he will 
find him and send him to me. 

I am in a perfect fever till he comes, when we read the 
note together. 

“Where did you get it, Thomas ?** 

“Lady Berkeley handed it to me as we landed recently.** 

“What does she know about it?** he enquires. 

“Only that she found it. I suppose in the Queen*s apart- 
ments at Greenwich.** 

“Well, but is that all? Did you not ask her all about 
it?** he says, disappointed. 

“She did not give me time. To be candid, she was angry 
with me because I overlooked her. You know my feelings 
towards her,** I say. 

“Yes, I know. But I should like more particulars about 
this note. I will go and see her, for this reads menacingly 
to me, and the Queen has many enemies,** and Percy 
leaves me. 

He returns sooner than I expect him and informs me 
that Lady Berkeley found it in the corridor leading out of 
the Queen’s private room, and that it was partly hidden in 
the curtains before the Queen’s door. 


308 By the King’s Command. 

“How do you interpret the note, Percy ?” 

“The ‘C’ can mean Cosyns, who is no friend of the 
Queen’s, I believe. And the only solution is that if it was 
meant for another night than to-night, we are wrong. 
But if it means any night from now on we are in time, 
for I shall watch myself,” he says, positively. 

“I am on duty at his Majesty’s chamber to-night, and 
perhaps Mistress Cosyns is in that of her Majesty, but that 
matters not, but I never thought she would be such a ser- 
pent, Percy.” 

“They will do anything against her. If they could keep 
her from being crowned it would be a triumph. Oh, there 
are those that would willingly murder her,” he says. 

“But there is only the entry through his Majesty’s cham- 
ber to the Queen’s sleeping room, Percy.” 

“No. There is that old door that is never used, that 
leads directly from the outer corridor right into her 
Majesty’s chamber, and that is covered entirely with dark 
curtains in the outer corridor, you remember, Thomas ?” 

“That is so. And that will be the place for an assassin 
to be admitted. And ‘Castile’ is the password for the 
guard. It is somebody familiar with all the inner secrets 
of their Majestys’ lodgings, Percy,” and we part, each un- 
derstanding to watch closely without any sleep all night. 

After the festivities of the day, their Majesties retire 
near the midnight hour, and I see that Mistress Cosyns is 
on duty in the Queen’s chamber, while I am at the King’s 
door. 

Outside the door, in the corridor next to her Majesty’s 
bed chamber, Percy mounts guard, unknown to any but 
me. At the end of this corridor two halberdiers bar the 
way to all, and at the stairs that leads up to this corridor 
two others do sentinels’ duty. 

The Tower itself and the royal apartments, particularly, 
are well guarded. Stretched across this door of Queen 
Anne’s chamber are massive dark velvet curtains, and the 
door is locked, for it is never used. 

Behind these curtains Percy conceals himself, having 
come through his Majesty’s chamber into the corridor, that 
is but dimly lighted with a small lamp near where the hal- 
berdiers stand talking together in low conversation. 


On the Eve of Attainment. 


309 


Completely hidden in the darkness, Percy hears the key 
of the lock in the door turn, and the door is opened a little 
way stealthily and closed again, then all is still. 

There is only one who would do that, Percy thinks to him- 
self, and that is a part of the mystery of the note. Oh, Mis- 
tress Cosyns ! Thou art a deep dyed traitor ! Art not 
careless as to consequences ? Thinkest responsibilities will 
not be fixed? Or does the madness of to-night make thee 
care not? 

It seems a long time for the Earl to be waiting, for half 
hours chime, then hours; and sentinels call and nothing 
whatever occurs, no voice, or footfall, or sound; only the 
animation of his own being, which being held to rigid 
watchfulness in the tension of alertness, seems to him tre- 
mendously alive. 

But all at once, without sound, he is conscious of another 
form near him. A hand is upon the curtains parting their 
folds, and one well acquainted with the door fastenings is 
stealthily leaning forward, and has his hand upon the 
handle. And that is all ! 

Percy’s arms reach forward and encircle a lithe and 
active body enveloped in a monk’s habiliments, who, taken 
by surprise, writhes and twists in his grasp eel-like, until 
Percy brings the pressure of his right hand to hear upon 
his throat to choke him into submission, but not before the 
assassin with a downward thrust of his hand runs the point 
of a knife into the Earl’s leg. 

Putting forth the mighty power of which he is capable, 
skilfully, yet noiselessly, he feels the man grow limp in his 
hands, and reaching down he takes the knife away, then 
opens the curtains to see if he can get a look at his face, to 
see if he can recognize who the assassin is. When lo ! It is 
a ruse! As quick, as that Percy can only seize his black 
robe, the assassin has wriggled out of his hands cloakless, 
and is fleeing down the corridor and away. 

There has been a sufficiency of bustle to disturb her 
Majesty, however, for she has slept lightly owing to the ex- 
citement of the day. With the instinctive something that 
inherently warns us of danger, her Majesty, hearing the 
muffled rustling outside her door, rises, and to the terror 
of her waiting woman, opens the door, which to her 


310 


By the King’s Command. 

Majesty’s amazement, she finds unfastened and confronts — 
the Earl of Northumberland ! 

“Why, my lord ! What art thou doing here at this hour ?” 
the Queen says, in her surprise. 

“I know not, your Majesty, other than that I was warned 
danger menaced you, with this result. I hold in my hand 
a monk’s gown and this dagger, and found your Majesty’s 
chamber unfastened, for an assassin’s entrance. But to my 
shame, the monk has fled and escaped, I fear, unless the 
guards have secured him.” 

“What? Would any seek to murder me?” the Queen 
says, horrified. 

Upon her knees behind the Queen, Mistress Cosyns puts 
up her hands to Percy with pleading look, and so he re- 
plies, “I cannot imagine who it can he, but I will unearth 
the mystery and report to your Highness. And I would 
advise your Majesty to retire, as the hour is late, and allow 
me to lock your Highness’ door and take charge of the key.” 

“Thou art wounded !” the Queen says, as her foot touches 
something wet. “Cosyns, fetch linen, but make no disturb- 
ance.” 

Directly Cosyns goes, the Queen falls on her knees and 
presses her handkerchief upon the wound in Percy’s leg, 
as she looks up and says, “Thou wert guarding my life, 
my lord ! Thou hast risked thine to save mine !” 

“It is my joy that thou knowest it! I live for that, and 
it is good to know I have shielded thee!” and Percy takes 
the Queen’s handkerchief, and, kissing it, puts it in his 
bosom and forgets to address her as the Queen in the ex- 
cess of his joy. And she does not correct him. 

Cosyns coming with linen, the Earl says, “It is but a 
scratch. And I beg your Highness will permit my depart- 
ure, to see if the assassin is detained, for I dare not leave 
till I know your Highness is safe.” 

“Thank you, my lord !” the Queen says, gratefully, and 
retires, and Percy turns the key in the lock and with- 
draws it. 

Taking his way to the guard he asks them where the 
assassin is. 

“Assassin, my lord? The monk we admitted was on par- 
ticular business, and had the King’s signet and password, 


On the Eve of Attainment. 311 

‘Castile/ And passed to Master Wyatt, who is on duty 
in his Majesty’s room/’ 

“Why did not you detain him on the way out? Did he 
not look strangely?’’ 

“We did, my lord, but he pushed up our halberds and 
showed his Majesty’s ring and threatened us, and for all 
he looked strangely without his cloak and hood, we dare not 
detain him when he held the King’s signet.” 

The other guards tell about the same, and Percy comes 
to me and tells me all. All we can make of it is that it 
was an Augustine monk, as under his black cloak he had 
on a white full-sleeved tunic that identified him that far. 

“But thou art wounded, Percy !” I say, concerned for 
him. 

“It is nothing. An inch of steel. But I would like to 
get at the bottom of this murderous plot, and Mistress 
Cosyns shall tell me.” 


312 


By the King’s Command. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

QUEEN ANNE’S ROYAL PROGRESS. 

The royal Tower is crowded this last day of May. 

The grand procession is already forming, and his Majesty 
is doing the Queen justice in this, that he will have the 
people impressed with the grandeur of her coronation. 

First come the heralds with their trumpets, who blow 
a fanfare from time to time. These are followed by fifty 
light horsemen of the City Watch, with their captain. Then 
comes a herald, preceding the King of France’s ambassa- 
dor and his retinue, who are resplendent in blue and 
yellow velvet. 

At the side of the French ambassador rides the Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury in his archiepiscopal robes. 

Then another herald comes, followed by the Venetian 
envoy, with his retinue ; and at his side rides Dr. Lee, the 
Archbishop of York, in his full robes of office. Then 
comes my Lord Bishop of London riding at the head of a 
number of bishops, abbots, priors and doctors of the 
Church, a great company, in their full canonicals. 

Then follow eighteen newly created Knights of the 
Bath, in their violet gowns, their hoods lined with white fur. 

Next come two esquires, representing the King’s claim 
to Normandy and Aquitaine. Following them come my 
Lord Mayor and Councillors, with their retinue, followed 
by twenty Knights of the Shires, and among them the 
Queen’s old suitor, Sir Piers Butler, who, with chivalrous 
loyalty, hath come to do her homage. 

Next comes a great band of musicianers, with trumpets, 
shawms and divers instruments on which they play. Then 


Queen Anne’s Royal Progress. 313 

follows my Lord Chamberlain, with the other great officers 
of the Queen’s household ; then a great company of nobles, 
and last of them and just before her Majesty’s litter, ride 
the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk and her Majesty’s father, 
the Earl of Wiltshire. 

Two royal heralds precede her Majesty’s litter, that is 
lined with cloth of gold and royal ermine, and that is 
fastened on the backs of two splendid white horses in royal 
housings, led by footmen in the royal livery. The canopy 
above this is of cloth of gold and is carried by mighty 
yeomen, and the four corner tassels are held by four 
Knights of the Cinque Ports. 

Her Majesty is dressed in robes of silver tissue with a 
great train, her royal m'antle of velvet and ermine sweeping 
over her train ; her corsage is emblazoned with jewels, and 
upon her head is the King’s coronet of rubies that he hath 
given her. Her hair unconfined falls over her mantle like 
strands of deepest gold, and as she stands for a moment 
before the mighty crowd that hath congregated at the 
Tower hill, she would be the fairest and most beautiful 
among fifty Queens, and I, Thomas Wyatt, say it! 

Master Henry Norris and myself are appointed to ride 
as her equerries, one each side of her litter, while Percy 
has gone with his Majesty by barge to York House. 

Seven young ladies of the Queen’s household attendants 
follow the royal litter; they are dressed all alike in robes 
of crimson velvet, the gift of the Queen. 

Following these come fourteen of the great noble ladies 
of the court, accompanying the King’s sister, the Duchess 
of Suffolk ; then four chariots, drawn by horses and led by 
liveried footmen, which contain the Queen’s stepmother and 
other ancient dames of the court. These are followed by 
royal heralds and fifty horsemen of the royal yeomanry 
that close the procession. 

His Majesty has had four fountains of Rhenish wine set 
up at four of the most prominent places along the line of 
route, and the city purveyors furnish food at the King’s 
expense to all comers, so that many a discontented churl is 
willing to shout the praises of his Majesty, even if he 
would commonly shout for Queen Katherine. 

As the procession emerges from Tower street into the 


314 


By the King’s Command. 

Cheapside, her Majesty is halted by representatives of all 
the city craftsmen. A pageant of children dressed quaintly 
as their elders, and led by a diminutive jeweller, presents 
her Majesty with a richly wrought box of jeweller’s work, 
which contains a royal coronet of roses, shamrock and 
thistles, set on a base of trailing hawthorn (the Tudor fam- 
ily device), and all exquisitely jewelled. 

Extending her hand to the little jeweller on his mounted 
platform, he kisses it and says, “God bless you, Queen 
Anne.” 

“Thou hast a knightly soul, little sir, and I thank you,” 
the Queen says, graciously, when they all shout their 
loyalty. 

As we pass along the Cheapside there is a magnificent 
triumphal arch of red and white roses intertwined, emblem- 
atic of the union of Lancaster and York; suspended in 
the centre of it is the Boleyn device, an immense white 
falcon, and as we come up to it an angel flies down from 
above with a golden crown and sets it upon the falcon, while 
voices chant in chorus: 

Pass to thy crowning , maiden of Albion , 

Daughter of Anglia raised to be Queen ; 

Blessings go with thee , the Virgin thy day-star ; 
Reign with her guidance thy subjects serene . 


Goldsmith’s Bow is resplendent in costly tapestries and 
hangings, and the streets and houses are crowded every- 
where to see this brave sight. 

A little further on and Faith, Hope and Charity are 
seen sitting on a throne close to one of the wine fountains 
that pours forth its sparkling nectar. The three Graces 
have a poet with them to recite verses for them to the 
Queen as she comes. He is robed in white and garlanded, 
but he sits too near the fountain and has already imbibed 
more than will clear his brain, to the consternation of the 
three, who are depending on him to do them credit. Hope 
doesn’t look very hopeful about it, I can tell you; for the 
Queen is almost to them, and he should be ready to speak. 

He sits mumbling and is trying to say : 


315 


Queen Anne’s Royal Progress. 

Faith , Hope and Love , three heavenly Graces given. 

To mortals; as their living guide to Heaven: 

Are here to meet your Majesty , I ween , 

And aid you in your glorious reign as Queen. 

The Cross , to be your rock and heavenly stay , 

The Anchor , securely to hold you on your way; 

The Heart of Love , that loving wins its own 

To loyalty , from queenly subjects to the throne. 

As we come right to them the poet, in the blind conceit 
of inebriety, staggers to his feet and halts the procession 
by waving aloft a casket containing a beautiful bracelet, 
with a heart, cross and anchor of jewels, embedded in roses 
of gold work. 

He looks ridiculously solemn as he says: 

Faith , Hope and Charity , three lovely maidens given 

To mortal man to love ; as strong as heaven, 

And then he stops, as he offers the casket, which I take 
for her Majesty ; and then he goes on : 

They've come to see your Majesty , the Queen, 

Who loves King Hal, our bluff and jolly King. 

The Queen smiles her thanks to the three beautiful 
maidens, while the poet stands still, mumbling and bobbing 
like a harlequin. 

It is more than Hope can stand, however, for she reaches 
over and plucks the robe of the poet from behind, with the 
result that he staggers and trips, and at last falls into the 
wine fountain with a prodigious splash that sends the 
liquid flying over everybody in the vicinity, who enraged, 
seize the poet and pummel him and then throw him under 
the platform in the kennel to sleep off his debauch and 
wake to his bruises. 

At the Guild Hall the Recorder of the City presents to 
her Majesty a purse containing a thousand marks in gold, 


316 By the King’s Command. 

that is placed before her in her litter. And a little further 
on at the end of the Cheapside a gorgeous pageant awaits 
her, for upon a great platform hung with crimson arras, 
a company of the gods are assembled, and prominently 
among them are Pallas, Venus and Juno, with their apples 
of gold. 

As her Majesty’s litter comes to these divinities we see 
that the god Bacchus stands out prominently; his vine 
crowned head surmounts a sturdy body, which closely re- 
sembles Master Meadons, the brewer; beside him is Her- 
cules, represented by Strong, the locksmith; Jupiter, by 
Master Hepburn, and even Master Clackton, the tailor, 
represents a rather shrunken and diminutive Orpheus; 
who, with a lute in his hands, toots away as if the dis- 
tractions of sound will bend to his will the very human 
gods about him; as before his prototype ruled the gods 
and men by his exquisite harmonies. 

Unfortunately they have not a place among the divinities 
for Mistress Clackton, or such a distinction might have 
won her acid soul to the lovely Queen riding towards them, 
and made her loyalty unquestioned; but like Hecate, she 
remains in the nether world and has taken her place at the 
base of the platform, removed from the gods above her, 
where she nurses her loyalty to Queen Katherine. 

As her Majesty approaches, sweet music mercifully 
drowns the squeakings of Orpheus, when the god Bacchus 
stands forth and sings with a very good voice: 

Queen of the Isles , we greet you , 

Divinities far and near. 

Queen of Anglia's people. 

The gods do homage here. 

Then the whole company break out into the chorus : 

Bacchus and Jupiter , 

Orpheus and Lucifer , 

'Morning light and melody we bring ; 

Hercules and Hera, 

Venus and Athena , 

Golden apples give to Anglia's Queen. 


Queen Anne’s Royal Progress. 317 

Then Juno, Pallas and Venus stand forth, dressed in 
purest white robes, with golden girdles and crowns, and 
holding their apples aloft, sweetly sing: 

Apples of gold , with riches we offer , 

Wisdom and joy they contain to the core ; 

Gladly we give them to Anglia's daughter , 

Keep them -, and good Inch will follow you sure . 

Juno, the mother, 

Pallas, defender, 

Venus, the loving, 

Devotedly yours. 

And they hand their golden apples to the Queen. 

“I thank you, lovely divinities ; I shall prize these highly, 
as they come from the home of the gods !” her Majesty 
says, as she raises her face and bows to them all; which 
makes them set up a mighty shout of “God save your 
Majesty,” as all their hearts are won by her graciousness. 

This is more than Mistress Clackton can stand, with her 
incorruptible loyalty, for she fairly dances up and down 
and shakes her fist at Orpheus, while she screams shrilly, 
“God bless Queen Katherine. You little treasonous fool — 
God bless Queen Katherine !” 

The procession is halted again and again, until the Queen 
looks fatigued. She gives back to the Lord Mayor the 
thousand marks, for treats for the people at the New Gate, 
and we pass out into the country. But here are new thou- 
sands awaiting her, and they line the route clear to the 
village of Charing, and I am glad when we turn at Queen 
Eleanor’s Cross and proceed toward Westminster Palace 
and Abbey. 

Westminster Hall has been hung with golden arras, and 
is newly glazed. A throne and canopy of state has been 
erected upon a high dais for her Majesty, and at its left, 
tier on tier, high up, great services of salvers, plates and 
goblets of gold of the most exquisite workmanship make a 
grand showing, and if my Lord Cardinal Wolsey were here 
he could recognize much of it, as well as some of the abbots 
who are here can, for the King is growing greedy and he 
has learned how to enrich himself. 


318 


By the King’s Command. 

Lavish decorations of royal purple and gold render this 
historic hall magnificent, and as abbots in their gorgeous 
vestments, lords and ladies and high functionaries, in their 
splendid regalia, move hither and thither, it presents a 
scene of dazzling brilliancy. 

The Queen’s litter is led right into the hall near to the 
royal dais, where his Grace of Suffolk and the Queen’s 
father assist her Majesty to alight, leading her to the throne 
under her canopy of state. 

“Thou art weary,” her father says, tenderly. 

“A little. But oh, what a loyal welcome !” the Queen 
says, gladly. 

“Thy beauty has completely won them. None can with- 
stand your Highness, not even the royal Henry,” the Duke 
of Suffolk says, gallantly. 

“I thank your Grace, but all men are butterflies and 
love to sip dainty sweets,” her Majesty answers him. 

“Then here are some for your Majesty,” the Duke says, 
as great lords come bearing a voide of spice and dainty 
confections with wine, and kneel before her with their 
golden dishes. 

Her Majesty partakes of refreshments and sends some 
down to her ladies, then retires to rest. 

In the Queen’s withdrawing room Percy waits with a 
note from the King. 

It reads: 

“Sweetheart — I am at York House, and it is dull with- 
out thee, since thou hast attracted all hearts to thyself. 

“Henry.” 

“My lord, I need thy kindly service,” the Queen says to 
Percy. 

“I live to serve your Highness,” Percy says, kneeling 
before her. 

“Then take me to his Highness. But we must go secretly, 
as I am to tarry here to-night,” she says, smiling. 

“May I have Master Wyatt make arrangements with the 
captain of your Majesty’s royal barge?” 

“Yes, do so ; for you are two inseparables, anyhow.” 

“I will have him do so, while your Majesty gets ready,” 
Percy says, hurrying away. 


Queen Anne’s Royal Progress. 319 

Dismissing all her attendants but Mistress Wyatt, the 
Queen has herself robed in a gown of black velvet, and 
has Mistress Wyatt don a similar costume, and then hooded 
and cloaked, they are ready for their journey. 

Westminster in the time of our story consists of a vil- 
lage with but few shops, an inn or two, Westminster Pal- 
ace, Parliament Hall, the Abbey Church and Abbey, with 
its cloisters, offices and dwellings; the King’s attendants’ 
quarters, servants’ and stable quarterings, and the whole 
surrounded by beautiful grounds, terraces and woodlands 
that stretch away to London. On the river side the grounds 
lead down to the river “stairs,” which is the main highway 
of traffic. 

Westminster is very much crowded, for her Majesty’s 
coronation has drawn a number of the class, who can make 
shift without lodging, if need be; those who huckster and 
jest and joke, and even rob a purse or crack a crown on 
occasion. And also a sprinkling of the more desperate 
class who would slit a man’s throat to get a rich haul, so 
that it is very unsafe to travel without escort. 

Making all preparations, Percy conducts her Majesty 
and Mary Wyatt out the back way of the palace, through 
the cloisters towards the private “stairs,” avoiding the more 
public way, where the King’s halberdiers do duty and keep 
order, and where there is much passing to and fro. 

It is only a short distance through the beautiful gardens, 
and none of the 'three have any thought of robbers, when 
two evil-looking rogues carrying swords confront them, 
demanding of the Earl his purse, and draw their swords 
on him as a gentle persuader. 

Placing himself in front of her Majesty, he says, “Out 
of the way, villains !” 

“We are not wanting anything, my fine sir, but thy 
purse, and perhaps some of the jewels these dainty ladies 
wear, who hide their faces in their hoods,” one of the rob- 
bers says, with an air of gentility. 

Disdaining the effrontery of these robber gentry, Percy 
advances quickly on them, as he says, “Out of the way, 
varlets! Thy tongue hast the language of gentility, but 
thy actions are currish !” 

Percy’s boldness and bearing might scare any two men, 


320 


By the King’s Command. 

but a man’s swordplay is not to be measured by a bold 
front, and so the other says: 

“Ha ! ha ! A little blood letting will bring him to terms.” 

With his left hand Percy looses his cloak from his shoul- 
ders and engages the two, while her Majesty picks up the 
fallen cloak, and she and Mary Wyatt have to watch the 
encounter, for they cannot advance and they dare not 
retreat. 

The sound of sharp steel draws two other villains to the 
scene, as Percy runs one of the villains through the body, 
whose loosened sword flies out of his hand falling at the 
feet of the ladies. 

Her Majesty dares to take it up, as she sees the other 
villains coming, and, throwing back her cloak, I do believe 
would defend herself, but the noise of the encounter has 
reached our ears, and little suspecting what is happening, 
I run to see, followed by the captain of the barge, when 
we find Percy attacked by the three, and the Queen, with 
sword in hand ready to defend herself. 

Percy lays another one out, and the other two flee, see- 
ing us coming running to the rescue. 

“Thou art too late,” her Majesty says to me, as she 
draws the hood well over her face, and, taking the hint, I 
do not call her by her title. 

“I am sorry, madam. But the Earl has done well, and 
thou hast a sword in thy hand for thy own defense,” I say. 

“The vile thing ! Ha ! The robber there had it !” the 
Queen says, in disgust, dropping it. “I shall feel polluted, 
Mary Wyatt.” 

“Let us to the barge,” the Earl says, “and lead on, cap- 
tain, I should have been more careful on a night like this,” 
Percy says to the captain of the barge. 

“Do not blame thyself ” the Queen whispers. “This is 
the second time I am indebted to thee. Thou art my good 
angel,” and she places her hand in his arm. 

“Thou dost honor me. And I am honored to serve thee. 
Mav I ever be where I can,” he says, fervently, as bare- 
headed he hands her into the barge, and the captain must 
guess who his august passenger is, for he bares his head 
also, and the rowers seeing him, give the royal salute with 
their oars. 


Queen Anne’s Coronation. 


321 


CHAPTEK XXXVIII. 

HOW THE BELLS RANG OUT QUEEN ANNE’S CORONATION. 

This is the first day of June, 1533, and Whit Sunday. 

Their Majesties are early astir, and Percy and I attend 
them to the “stairs” while the dew still lies heavy on the 
grass, for the sun is yet feeble in its power to dispel the 
morning mists that float lazily along, burdened with the 
perfume they have gotten from myriad flowers. 

Birds are singing everywhere around us. Black birds 
pour out their mellow notes, throstles warble hymns of 
praise, robin redbreast sings his peculiarly sweet refrain, 
that has made him the traditional sacred songster, while 
the bullfinch pipes forth his love song, and the air is full 
of glad sounds. 

All at once the bells chime out, first St. Martin’s in the 
fields over by the village of Charing, then St. Paul’s bells 
can be heard, as the river brings the sound to us ; then the 
Abbey bells burst forth, and St. Margaret’s Church, close 
by, until the air is filled with the gladness and joy of the 
day, and the Queen seems to hear them fling their welcome 
to her as they musically say, Cor — on — a — tion. Cor — on — 
a — tion, Cor — on — a — tion ! and nature seems to have en- 
tered into the soul of this great throbbing of coronation 
melody. 

Entering the royal barge, the river seems alive to the 
Queen; rippling, chattering, lapping, leaping against the 
barge, and the oarsmen as they move with measured time 
at the oars, seem to dip to the tune, Cor — on — a — tion, 
Cor — on — a — tion, Cor — on — a — tion ! 

Boats and craft of all description are hurrying to the 
“stairs” at Westminster, where there is already a jam and 


322 


By the King’s Command. 

congestion of traffic. My Lord Mayor’s barge is already 
there, and his Grace of Canterbury’s we see is coming over 
from Lambeth Palace to the royal “stairs.” 

As we pass the place of last night’s encounter, the Queen 
points out the spot where the robbers fought Percy, but 
there is no sign now of death, for the place is covered with 
the distillations of heaven, and is thick with dewy diamonds, 
and the clamoring bells ring out louder and louder, Cor — 
on — a — tion, Cor — on — a — tion, Cor — on — a — tion ! 

“Thou art my little robber,” the King says, gaily. 

“In what way, Sire?” 

“Thou hast stolen my heart,” he says, as he prepares 
to leave her. 

“Do we have to part here for another day ?” 

“Yes, pretty one. This is thy day, all thine. At its 
close I shall claim' thee again as my crowned Queen, as I 
promised thee.” 

“Where wilt thou be, Sire?” 

“In St. Stephen’s cloister.” 

“Let thine eyes be on me, as my heart will be with thee,' 
as thy promised gift is placed on my head.” she savs. 
earnestly. 

Kissing her, he says, “Thou art a Queen without other, 
crowning; it is stamped in thy very face.” 

Delighted, the Queen makes her way to her robing room 
to place herself in the hands of her women, while Percy 
and I follow his Highness to his private chamber in the 
palace. 

As we pass along the King meets a number of courtiers, 
and among them Sir John Seymour of Wolf Hall, Wilt- 
shire, with a rather beautiful young lady accompanying* 
him. 

His Majesty nods pleasantly to Sir John and stares long 
and openly at his beautiful daughter, until she drops her 
eyes, showing her superb lashes, and she blushes red under 
the kingly notice. 

“Who is the lady, Master Wyatt ?” the King says, turning 
to me. 

“Mistress Jane Seymour, Sire ; Sir John’s daughter.” 

“Fine snapping eyes, and rather a good form; we must 
see more of her,” he says. 


Queen Anne’s Coronation. 323 

Percy and I look at each other, and I am sure have the 
same thought together, though we say not a word. 

“Did not Mistress Seymour serve Queen Claude as lady 
in waiting?” he asks. 

“Yes, Sire.” 

“Then she shall come to court and be one of the Queen’s 
maids,” he says, as he passes to his private chamber, where 
Master Cromwell already awaits him. 

At eight of the clock, the Queen stands under her canopy 
of state in Westminster Hall. Her Majesty is dressed in 
royal purple, the bodice and front of her gown being ex- 
quisitely jewelled. A great mantle of the same, lined with 
royal ermine, is about her shoulders, and, falling to the 
floor, ends with a long train. Her head is coroneted with 
burning rubies, bracelets are upon her arms, and her beau- 
tiful hair, unconfined, as a maiden Queen’s must be, falls 
luxuriantly about her shoulders, as she stands unrivaled in 
her beauty, peerless before them all. 

Ray cloth has been laid from the dais in Westminster 
Hall, through the sanctuary and palace up to the high 
altar in the Abbey, marking the way for the great proces- 
sion that is now forming. 

Monks in rich vestments, abbots, priors and bishops in 
their splendid copes and mitres, head the procession; then 
the Archbishops of Canterbury and York in their full 
pontificals come next. Then come Lord William Howard, 
and the Earl of Sussex, bearing the sceptre and white rod, 
then the Duke of Suffolk bearing the crown on a crimson 
cushion. 

Her Majesty comes next, walking under her canopy, 
her right hand supported by the Bishop of London, and her 
left by Stephen Gardiner, now Bishop of Winchester. Her 
train is supported by her ladies, and so she comes to the 
high altar to the strains of sweetest music, the acclamations 
of the people, and the ringing of the bells, that will not be 
'drowned with these other sounds of jubilation, but ring 
out with brazen clamor, Cor — on — a — tion, Cor — on — a — 
tion. Cor — on — a — tion ! 

Her Marchioness’ coronet is now laid aside, and the 
Archbishop of Canterbury talks to her, telling her that she 
is the anointed of God to rule with his Majesty as con- 


324 


By the King’s Command. 

secrated Queen. Holy oil he places on her head and 
breast; holy prayers are ascending from intoning priests, 
and all around and about her the impressiveness of a great 
solemnity seizes hold of her. 

How she is assisted to her throne, high up beside God’s 
altar ; the sceptre is placed in her hand, and the Archbishop 
receives the crown from his Grace of Suffolk, and as all 
eyes are fastened on her, his Grace lifts the crown, much 
as he elevates the sacred pyx and sets it upon her head amid 
the greatest enthusiasm, and assisting her to her feet, she 
stands crowned before them all. There is now another stir 
of bewildering grandeur as all the great lords and ladies, 
Dukes and Marquises and great ones of the realm assume 
their coronets and are crowned with her. 

And now, archbishops and bishops, abbots and robed 
priests, break out into “Te Deum Laudamus,” and the 
organ swells and the choristers take up the heavenly hymn 
that fills the Abbey to its remotest corners, “We Praise 
Thee, 0 God,” and all the pomp and glitter sink into 
nothingness in the Queen’s mind, for she is impressed with 
the great height she hath attained above all in the realm, 
from being simply a gentlewoman. 

So much is she impressed with this thought that it seems 
as if the scene is fading to her, and she is again in the 
forest of Hampton Court, within the gipsy tent, and in- 
voluntarily closing her eyes, she sees the crystal ball hang- 
ing before her, and gazing at it, sees this very scene. 
Dreading what is to follow, as this is the beginning of her 
destiny, she gasps for breath and insensibly feels her hand 
for the gipsy’s ring that she alwa}^s wears, which seems to re- 
store her. Sighing, she hears again the grand music of the 
Abbey, and hundreds of singing voices ending the hymni 
of praise; and she moves her lips and prays the wo’rds 
they are singing, “Let me never, let me never be con- 
founded !” 

“Thou art faint from fasting and weariness. Mass will 
soon be over,” her father whispers to her. 

“I am feeling well now. It was only a passing faintness,” 
she whispers back. 

It is soon over, and she is led to St. Edward the Con- 
fessor’s shrine, to make her offering, and from thence to 


325 


Queen Anne’s Coronation. 

her retiring room for a little rest and refreshment, which 
soon restores the roses to her cheeks, and she is able to 
ascend her throne and receive the homage of her subjects 
as crowned QUEEN OF ENGLAND, as never before. 

The act of homage takes a long while, as there is a great 
deal of niceness to be observed as to precedence, but at last 
Percy and I go forward, for though he is one of his 
Majesty’s great northern lords, he elects to go forward 
svith me. 

Her Majesty receives us graciously, and I see her give his 
hand a kindly pressure, as if by such telepathy she can 
communicate to him her thoughts, and I cannot bat pray, 
“Holy Mother of God, keep her safely.” 

It is the lofty distinction of the Queen’s father to sup- 
port her Majesty’s sceptre hand, and the young Lord Tal- 
bot her other, as the procession reforms and moves to the 
banqueting hall. 

Great tables are laid the full length of the hall, and the 
Duke of Suffolk and Lord William Howard are the grand 
stewards, the Earl of Arundel acts as chief butler, while 
other great nobles wait on her Majesty. 

Coming to her dais, a table is brought to her, where from 
her elevated position she can see the great throng below 
her, and the royal magnificence of the entertainment. 

Master Norris kneels before her with a basin of gold, and 
I pour perfumed water over her hands, after which she 
takes her seat, the Countesses of Oxford and Worcester 
standing one each side of her chair, while my sister Mary 
and Lady Berkeley kneel at her feet. 

Percy brings the King’s greeting to her before her re- 
past, “'May it do you good,” and the Queen sends back the 
message, “That her heart is with his Majesty, though her 
body is in the banqueting hall.” 

So engrossed is her Majesty with the brilliant scene 
around her on this her coronation day and the good cheer 
of it all, unmarred by anything ; that presently, on looking 
down into her lap to her astonishment she sees a missive 
lying there. 

“What is this. Lady Oxford?” the Queen says, picking 
up the letter. 

“I do not know, your Majesty/’ the Countess replies. 


326 By the King’s Command. 

It is a missive sealed with the papal seal, but who 
brought it? 

“How did it get into my lap ? Where is the messenger?” 
the Queen enquires. 

“A monk pushed near me a few moments ago, but as 
he was habited in his cope for the service, I regarded it 
not strangely,” the Countess of Worcester says. 

Her Majesty is uneasy the balance of the banquet, and, 
pleading fatigue, hastens her departure, for somehow the 
papal missive seems to her a thing of evil omen, and she 
wants to learn its contents. 

The Queen rising, all rise, and after again washing her 
hands, the Lord Mayor pledges her in a cup of wine. 

Putting it to her lips, the Queen gives the cup as a 
memento of the day to him, and amid the acclamations of 
the throng, she retires from the banqueting hall ; the letter 
that she holds in her hand seems as if freighted with lead 
that is communicated to her heart, for she feels that it con- 
tains threats against her, turning her coronation into a 
thorny crowning. 

As she moves forward under her canopy, the bells ring 
out again, Cor — on — a — tion, Cor — on — a — tion, Cor — on 
— a — tion ! But their noisy joy hath not the charm in 
their sound that they had before she received this papal 
missive, and she would rather hear the choir anthem of 
praise again, “Let me never, let me never be confounded !” 
for it would be more in harmony with her feelings. She 
thinks so deeply that as she moves through the great throng 
slowly, she mechanically bows to right and left, her brain 
the very pitch of expectancy, until she fancies the ringing 
bells have changed their meaning from Cor — on — a — tion, 
Cor — on — a — tion ! to a more ominous sound, for they have 
changed their words and are mocking her with their brazen 
throats as they call, “Be — con — found — ed ! Be — con — 
found — ed ! Be — con — found — ed !” 

Coming to the hall door, the Queen rallies her faculties 
to thank the kneeling knights about her and presents them 
with the canopy with its golden bells and decorations. Then 
turning her back upon the festivities, she says to me, 
“Master Wyatt, bring his Majesty to me.” 


Queen Anne’s Coronation. 327 

Before I can do so, his Majesty enters, and she says, 
eagerly, “I am so glad to see thee, Sire. Look here P 

“God’s death ! And so they have sent thee a missive, 
too P and his Majesty swears wrathfully. 

“I found it in my lap at the banquet, but who delivered 
it I know not.” 

“A monk brought me mine and tried to slip it into my 
private room with the greatest audacity during the fes- 
tivities, but the Earl of Northumberland held the fellow 
and turned him over to the guard,” the King says. 

“Is he his Holiness’ messenger, Sire?” 

“His Holiness’ messenger, and just arrived from Rome.” 

“He has been diligent in his service,” the Queen says, 
kneeling before the King in all her beauty. “I am anxious 
to know what they contain.” 

“Kneel not, sweetheart, for I saw thou wert fatigued 
a while since, and was concerned about thee.” 

“It was joy, Sire.” 

“What joy, sweetheart?” and his Majesty leans towards 
her. 

Looking up into his face shyly, she whispers, “Please 
the heavenly Jesu your Highness may look to have an heir 
to the throne. The good news came at my crowning.” 

“That is good news, and what care we at what these 
croakers say?” the King says, jovially. 

“What was in thy letter, Sire?” 

“I will tell thee ! But here is Master Cromwell ! Sit 
down, sweetheart, and we will talk of the matter,” the King 
says, as Cromwell comes into the room. 

“Hast any further news, Master Cromwell ?” 

“Yes, Sire. I find that his Holiness is kept informed of 
all your Highness’ affairs, and these letters were to be 
given to your Highnesses at her Majesty’s coronation.” 

“Sir Thomas More did not attend to-day?” 

“No, Sire. He returned your gift and excused himself.” 

“He shall he broken in,” his Majesty says, sententiously. 

“Break open the letters, Sire,” the Queen says, earnestly. 

Breaking the seal, they see it is a threat of the Holy 
Father to them both, if they do not separate. Excommuni- 
cation is to follow if the King takes not back Queen Kath- 
erine to wife and puts not away Queen Anne. 


328 


By the King’s Command. 

The Queen feels desolate under the threat of the Pope, 
while the King is wrathful. 

“Take care of my boy !” he whispers into her ear, as he 
leaves with Master Cromwell, and, being left alone, she falls 
upon her knees, and all she can think to say is the altered 
monotone of the bells, “Let me never be con — found — ed ! 
Be con — found — ed !” 

In the evening their Majesties ride to York House, and 
as the Queen joins the King in the entry, she sees his 
Majesty in conversation with a knightly looking man and 
a most beautiful young lady. His Majesty’s conversation 
is directed mostly to the beautiful lady, who smiles and is 
flattered with the kingly notice. Seeing her Majesty, the 
King abruptly leaves them and comes to her, and they ride 
forth together to York House amidst shoutings of loyalty 
and booming of guns and fireworks and ringing of bells. 

And the bells ring not so merrily as, they did in the 
bright morning, for while they clang out Cor — on — a — tion. 
Cor — on — a — tion ! the Queen hears them also say Be — 
con — found — ed, Be — con — found — ed ! 

At York House, as her Majesty retires, she sees Percy 
and me, and turning to me says, “Thomas Wyatt, who was 
that young lady his Majesty was in conversation with at 
Westminster, just before the King and I rode forth to- 
gether ?” 

Remembering who it was, I somehow hesitate in reply- 
ing, when she turns quickly to Percy with, “You know, my 
lord, for I saw you watching them. Who was it ?” 

“Mistress Jane Seymour, your Majesty,” Percy says. 

Without replying her Majesty passes on thoughtfully, 
while Percy and I look at each other. 


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